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! BIRTHRIGHT. 


HflD PRESIDE LiIBf*A^Y. 1 


PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY 


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Birthright 


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By JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS. 

w 


ILLUSTRATED. 



PUBLISHED BY 

MAST, CROWELL & KIRKPATRICK, 
SPRINGFIELD, OHIO. 


COPYRIGHTED, 

1890, 

By Mast, Crowell & Kirkpatrick. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


CHAPTER I. 

AT THE BAHK. 

T was high noon of a summer day of 1887, 
and at the intersection of Large and Old 
streets the stream of business and traffic 
flowed at high tide. In that bustling, 
“booming” town of fifty thousand, this 
point was as near the center of commercial 
gravity and importance as such a point can 
ever be located. The four corners of this 
intersection were occupied by business blocks as stately and 
substantial as such are ever seen outside of a metropolis. Par- 
ticularly was that upon the south-east corner, the Barkley, the 
pride and boast of the people of Scioga. They were wont to say 
that lower Broadway would not have been ashamed of it, so 
imposing was its dark granite front with white stone trimmings, 
so elegant its interior finish, so perfect its appointments. All 
that modern applied science was capable of had been put to use — 
the elevator, the telephone, electric lights, water-pipes — and it 
was said that Norman Barkley had not yet tired of standing 
across the street and viewing with a kind of silent rapture his 
proud possession. 

Public halls, lawyers’, doctors’ and other offices occupied the 
upper floors. The first floor was devoted entirely t<j the bank, its 
parlor and offices, and high up over the entrance and the 
enormous plate glass front you might read in gilded letters two 
feet long, “ Security National Bank.” 

At this hour the s^ace outside the carved, mahogany counters, 
topped with open iron-work, was filled with messengers, with 



4 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


men and women who came and went, depositing, drawing out, 
obtaining discounts. Most conspicuous within, as usual, was the 
first paying teller, whose rapid and always correct counting of 
large sums of money was accompanied by an appearance of care- 
lessness which long practice had made perfect, and which never 
failed to challenge the amazement of the person outside the 
wire screen. 

The cashier, the bookkeepers, clerks, errand-boys, all were busy. 
In the parlor a meeting of the board of directors was being held. 

Sitting at his desk, far in the rear of the long bank-room, 
opposite an aperture in the gilded iron lattice, was Mr. Carson 
Newbold, cashier of the bank. He was a man of about forty 
years of age, with clear-cut features, one blue and one gray eye, 
brown hair, thinning toward the top, and a perfectly colorless 
face. He had been in this institution since it was organized, and 
by reason of his thorough knowledge* of banking, his great 
capacity for the dispatch of business, and his high standing in 
social and religious circles, he was deemed indispensable by the 
directors. He had but a few shares of stock in the Security, but 
was said to be the owner of an elegant home on the street which 
the new aristocracy of Scioga especially affected. He was 
reputed to be quite wealthy. Everybody knew that he was a 
member of All-Souls’ church, and superintendent of its Sabbath- 
school. To speak more definitely of how he looked is impossible. 
In hfs business suit or in broadcloth he bore the appearance of a 
well-to-do gentleman. But if you looked at his face you gen- 
erally found it expressionless. Rare were the occasions when 
any emotion was reflected in it. What was usually hidden 
behind that colorless mask, it was vain to inquire. 

On this day Mr. Newbold was, as usual, in perfect business 
trim, attending to the applicants at his window with promptness 
and dispatch. Inquirers about loans were briefly but fully 
answered, proposed discounts passed or refused ; everything decided 
at once, without hesitation. It was this ability and u style ” that 
had won Mr. Newbold his enviable name in business circles. 

In a brief interval of business he looked up at the opening and 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


5 


saw a face there that disturbed him. It was the face of a young 
man, quite new in the twenties — an open, manly face, which had 
been ruddy before trouble drove out the color, and in which deep 
brown eyes, and a mouth as delicate and sensitive as a woman’s, 
were the remarkable features. The face just now wore an eager, 
serious and rather determined expression, mingled with some 
agitation, which the cashier did not fail to note. 

“ What do you want? ” he asked, gruffly. 

“Justice.” 

Mr. Newbold rapped his desk sharply with his knuckles. He 
spoke in a low voice, so 
that his words might not 
be understood by the at- 
tendants of the bank ; but 
he was stern and threaten- 
ing. u See here, my young 
fellow, you are going just 
a step too far. I suppose 
I can stand it a while 
longer to have you meet 
me in the street and talk 
to me about your alleged 
wrongs, but when it comes 
to your showing yourself 
here , in bank hours, and demanding to take my time with such 
chaff — why, then I must decline to hear you. Just go away, 
now, or I may have to send for a policeman.” 

“ I shall not stir till I have had justice! I will not — ” 

The cashier threw up his hand in a deprecating way, made a 
hasty memorandum at the foot of an open letter, and said : 

“Well, sir, if you will be a fool, be as quiet a fool as you can. 
Don’t get excited, don’t attract attention and get up a scene here 
right in the busiest hour of the day. You’ve no case ; there’s no 
use in my hearing you, and you know it as well as I do ; but I’ll 
be patient with you, as I have been from the first. What is it, 
Mr. Greene?” 



Mr. Newbold Sees a Face that 
Disturbs Him. 



6 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“ Draft on Melbourne for seven hundred and fifty dollars.” 

“ Go to the teller.” 

“I have seen him ; he don’t know the rate of exchange.” 

“Well, that’s easy. Stand aside, Mr. Barnard, please, for a 
moment.” 

The cashier made a few rapid figures with a pencil, handed 
them out with the instruction, “ Take that to the teller,” and 
then confronted the young man again. 

“Well?” he said, with the tone and the look of one who is 
badly bored. 

“ Mr. Newbold,” said George Barnard, with energy, “ you know 
what my complaint is. There is no use whatever in my multi- 
plying words. You knew at the time of it the great wrong you 
put upon me, and I have often enough since appealed to you for 
justice. You have always refused it ; you have heard me with 
impatience, just as you do now. Three months ago I was a book- 
keeper in this bank, doing my work faithfully and intelligently 
for ten dollars a week. I obtained my position by the recom- 
mendation of a business college to you ; the president of the bank 
assented when you said you were satisfied. I was a stranger 
here ; at this moment I have no powerful friends. The time came 
when you learned that I had walked with your daughter on the 
street ; that I had called at your house and been received there as 
a gentleman should be. For that — for nothing else under 
heavens — you summarily discharged me. I asked you to give 
me credentials; you refused. This would have been bad 
enough, but you were capable of worse malignity than that. It 
seems that even so poor an underling as I was cannot be turned 
out of a great corporation like this without inquiry being made 
about it, and in my case some of the directors asked you what 
the trouble was. You know what you said; you know the 
inuendoes, absolutely false, ’'with which you sought to blast 
my character. Well, you succeeded — so well that you satisfied 
them, and as a consequence, have prevented me from obtaining 
employment elsewhere. For the last time, sir, I ask you for 
justice.” 


A BARTERED birthright. 


*7 



“Well, what do you mean by that big word? Would ten 
dollars, to take you out of town, satisfy you?” 

The heartless sneer cut poor Barnard to the quick, but he did 
not show that he noticed it. 

“ I want you to reinstate me here in my old place. I want you 
to tell the board that 11 


“With His Hands Behind His Head, Stared at His Visitor.” 

“You need say no more,” rudely interrupted the cashier.. “I’ll 
not hear another word. You have annoyed me now beyond all 
reason. Just take yourself away from here or I’ll call a police- 
man to help you.” 


8 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


George Barnard moved to the door of the bank parlor a few 
feet away. 

“ There are people in there who will hear me,” he said. “ And 
when they hear what I have to say, perhaps you will be sorry 
that you did not treat me differently.” 

His hand was raised to knock. 

“Hold!” said Newbold. 

Barnard came back to the window. 

“ Do you mean,” asked the cashier, “ that you are going to be 
so silly as to complain to the directors that I discharged you 
because your attentions to my daughter were not agreeable to me? 

Why, they’ll think it a 
capital joke. They’ll laugh 
you out of the room.” 

“No, I shall not tell 
them that. Nor shall I 
tell them you have , hor- 
ribly wronged me by 
false insinuations against 
my honesty. As I told 
you, I am without pow- 
erful friends ; I cannot 
make head against you 
with such complaints ; I 
should get no relief that 
way. But there is a story I can tell them that they will listen to.” 

Something in the speaker’s voice grated unpleasantly on the 
cashier’s nerves. He had nerves, though he uniformly kept them 
in close subjection. He swung around in his swivel chair. 

“A story?” he repeated. 

“ Yes ; a story about you. A true one.” 

There was a moment’s silence. The would-be accuser looked 
steadily at the cashier ; the latter, outwardly calm and unruffled, 
was cowering and quaking within. u What,” his guilty fears were 
asking him, u what — how much does this fellow know about me?” 

“What do vou mean?” he asked. 



Inside the Cashier’s Office the Key 
was Softly Turned in the Lock. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


9 


w I mean that if you will not repair the wrong you have done 
me, out of common justice, you shall do it for fear of what may 
happen to you. I know that which will imperil your position 
here, should the directors find it out.” 

The cashier rose from his chair, apparently as calm as ever. 

“Mr. Giles,” he said to one of the clerks, “sit here during my 
absence. Say to people inquiring for me that I will return in 
half an hour. Mr. Barnard, please come into my private office ; 
the business you spoke of must be very carefully talked over. 
No, Mr. March,” to a new-comer, “I can’t possibly attend to you 
now ; I have business here that presses.” 

Inside the cashier’s office the key was softly turned in the lock. 
Newbold threw himself on the lounge, and with his hands behind 
his head, stared at his visitor. Then he asked : 

“What the devil do you mean?” 


CHAPTER II. 

GALL AND WORMWOOD. 

t any other time George Barnard would have 
been amazed to hear such an expression as 
this from the correct, the refined, the pious 
Mr. Newbold. Just now, considering the 
excitement that he knew the cashier must 
be laboring under, though he betrayed little 
of it outwardly, the young man was not 
surprised at all. And knowing his man better than the people 
of Scioga did, he was quite prepared to hear such language from 
him at this time, when the people of the city were shut out by 
lock and key. 

He knew what he wanted to reply, but he had not got his 
thoughts thoroughly arranged. Newbold noticed his hesitation, 
and repeated, with a show of bravado : 

“Yes, sir, tell me just what you mean. No nonsense, now, 
with me. If you’ve got anything you think I ought to hear, out 
with it, and I’ll quickly answer it.” 

“ You shall know right away,” Barnard replied sturdily. “You 
have a standing and a reputation in this city and in this bank 
that you’re not entitled to. You are a hypocrite — the worst kind 
of a hypocrite ! What would all your church work and .vour 
Sabbath-school work amount to — aye, what would your position 
in the bank amount to if the truth were published ? You are a 
gambler — a regular, confirmed gambler, and therefore unworthy 
the confidence of anybody !” 

The speaker watched the man’s face as he talked, anxious to 
see the effect of his words. To his great surprise they seemed to 
have very little effect. The truth was, they did strike some ter- 
ror to the vulnerable soul of Carson Newbold, but the fear of 
detection, exposure, disgrace and punishment, which the young 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


11 


tnan s vague threats had opened before him, took so wide a range 
that he experienced a certain negative kind of relief in hearing 
the nature of the charge. He lay back and eyed his accuser half 
defiantly. 

“ Is that all of it ? ” 

“ That is what I mean to use against you if you will not rignt 
the wrong you have done me. There are certain suspicions and 
probabilities that naturally grow out of it, but that is the direct 
charge I mean to use.” 

“You can’t prove it.” 

“lean.” 

“How?” ' 

“ I will tell you. The gambling-rooms in the fourth story of 
the Industrial block are supposed to be kept very secret. Usually 
they are. But detectives often occupy a hiding-place on that 
floor, where they can see and hear all that goes on. I’ll put it 
plainly, sir ; that is part of the price of immunity that the pro- 
prietor pays to the police.” 

The cashier was staggered by this disclosure. His cool self- 
possession fled instantly. His eyes were wild, and his breath came 
by gasps. 

“Good God, boy! what do you tell me?” he cried. Have I 
ever been seen there from the outside ? ” 

“Yes, indeed! One of the detectives is my friend; he knew 
my wrongs, and sympathized with me. On the night of the 7th 
of this month, and again on the night of the 12th, I was hidden 
there with him, and heard and saw everything. On the first 
night that I have mentioned you won five hundred dollars ; on 
the second night you lost twenty-three hundred dollars.” 

Newbold groaned in corroboration of this statement. 

“Do you mean to tell the directors of this?” he demanded, 
huskily. 

“Yes. When I found that you were a hypocrite and a villain, 

I saw that you could be influenced only through your fears. 
That is the way I am appealing to you now. I have my facts all 
well in hand ; what have you got to say against them ? ” 


12 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“It’s absurd !” the cashier blustered' with a dying show of re- 
sistance, “Nobody will believe such things of me. The board 
won’t believe them.” 

“Probably not, at once,” Barnard coolly replied. “You’d in- 
dignantly deny it, I suppose, and for a few hours they would 
think me a very depraved young man, to make such charges 
against you. But I should give them something to think of. I 
should excite and alarm them. They would dog you every day 
with a detective — ” 

“No, no,” the cashier interrupted. “I can’t stand anything of 
that kind. You say you have told me all you know about me ? ” 

“All I know — yes.” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“Simply the suspicion that always attaches to a gambler. I 
am young, but I have seen a great deal of the world. I mean the 
suspicion that the man who gambles as heavily as you do uses 
other people’s money in gaming.” 

“I never have.” 

“ I hope not.” 

The eyes of the two met. Newbold realized that his remark 
was an implied confession of guilt. 

“ I understand the length and breadth of your position. Before 
I treat with you, answer me one question. Am I in any danger 
from that detective ? ” 

“No. He was not spotting for you on those nights, but was 
after other game. He was more surprised to find you in that 
place than I was.” 

“ What sent you there ? ” 

Barnard looked him calmly in the eye. 

“Your face was never consistent with the character you have 
assumed before the world ; there is no soul in it. I knew you 
must be vile somewhere. I simply searched till I found the weak 
spot.” 

The cashier looked at the carpet. His hand played nervously 
with his watch-chain. 

“You are sure of the detective ?” he faltered. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


13 


“Yes. He is not a blackmailer ; he is an honorable man, labor- 
ing in a legitimate calling. He will not betray yon ; to make as- 
surance doubly sure, I will get his promise never to mention your 
name in this connection.” 

Carson Newbold rose from the lounge with an air of relief. 

“Will you give me the detective’s name ?” 

“Yes, when you satisfy me.” 

“Very well ; wait here a moment.” 

He unlocked the door, went out, and returned in less than a 
minute, relocking the door after him. He laid down on the small 
table before Barnard ten new, crisp notes of the Security bank 
for five hundred dollars each. 

“ These are yours,” he said. “ All I ask of }mu is your pledge to 
leave Scioga on the first train to-morrow, and never return here.” 

George Barnard faced him with kindling eye, got out of his 
chair, and with one movement of his arm swept the notes to the 
floor. 

“ No ! ” he thundered. “ No ! I don’t want money ; I can’t be 
bought. I want my honor, which you have cruelly sacrificed.” 

He was five feet eleven in height, and as he stood erect there 
in his righteous indignation, he looked to the guilty soul of the 
cashier fully eight feet. 

Newbold had played his last card, and failed. He broke down, 
and became abject in the terrors of his position. 

“ George — George Barnard, my dear fellow, you surely wouldn’t 
persecute me this way. You were in love with Violetta, you 
know. Violetta is my daughter, my dear child. Now, if you’ll 
only—” 

The disgust that filled Barnard’s face was painful to behold. 

“Stop !” he exclaimed. “ Is it possible that you are so base as 
to mentio'n her name here? You violated honor and conscience 
to destroy me, because you saw that I was not disagreeable to 
her. Have you the meanness now to appeal to my love for her 
as a reason why I should not compel you to do me justice?” 

“What shall I do?” Newbold whimpered. 

“ Restore me immediately to my place.” 


14 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“ I’ll do it,” was the eager reply ; “ I’ll do it right off.” 

“ That is not all. Come into the parlor with me, tell the 
directors that you were mistaken about me, and have restored 
me to my position because you had discovered that I was 
wronged.” 


“No, no, I can’t do that !” 

“ Nothing else will answer. Do it, or I’ll go in alone.” 

The cashier walked the narrow room, groaned, and almost 
wept in his agony of spirit. He wet his head at the basin, and 
unlocking a small cupboard, he took a large dram of brandy. 

Barnard watched him in silence ; the man was being fully re- 
vealed to him. 

“What assurance have I,” Newbold asked, “that you won’t 

betray me after I have done 
as you wish ? ” 

“ My honor ! ” was the 
proud reply. “You may 
not know what that means. 
I do.” 

The remark was not re- 
sented. 

“ Come,” the cashier said. 
“I trust all to' you.” 

Half a dozen men were 
waiting outside to see him. 
He passed them all and 
entered the bank-parlor 
with Barnard. The hour 
was now half-past one, and the meeting of the directors was about 
to break up. Mr. Barkley, the fat and florid president, had 
risen from his chair, and the half-dozen others about the long 
table were smoking and chatting. 

“One moment, Mr. President and gentlemen,” Newbold said. 
“ I have nothing of importance to bring before you — merely a 
personal explanation. This is Mr. George Barnard, who was em- 
ployed as our second bookkeeper some months ago, and was rather 



George Barnard Laboring oyer Ledger 
and Pass-Books. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


15 


summarily discharged. Some of you have mentioned the matter 
to me since then. I think it due to him to say that I have in- 
vestigated the complaints against him, and am satisfied that they 
were not well founded. Mr. Barnard is perfectly capable, and 1 
believe thoroughly honest. I have reinstated him in his old 
position, and think it no more than right to say to you what I 
have about him.” 

Glances of curiosity and interest were turned from Newbold to 
Barnard. 

“Well, now, young feller,” Mr. Barkley said, “I’m reely glad 
you’ve turned out all right. Good clerk, we used to hear— have 
heard you kept them books 0. K. Little hard on him, Newbold, 
wasn’t you ? Always keerful for the bank ! Good failing. You 
are our watch-dog, Newby. Glad to see you back, young chap ; 
hope there won’t be no more fuss about you.” 

For an hour and a half more Carson Newbold discharged his 
usual duties at his desk and window. Nobody observed the ab- 
erration of his mind. He talked, discussed and decided as clearly 
as ever. But in each interval of business his eyes turned in- 
voluntarily to a distant counter, where George Barnard labored 
over a big ledger and a pile of pass-books. 

Nemesis seemed to have entered the building. 


% 


CHAPTER III. 

SKELETON'S IN THE CLOSET. 

t four o’clock the cashier left the bank and 
walked homeward. It was his habit to take 
the street-car, but on this evening action 
better suited his mood. A tempest was 
raging in his brain. He found himself 
incapable of steady thought. Of a sudden, 
almost as in a flash, when he deemed himself 
secure in his standing in the eyes of the world, safe in the prac- 
tice of secret vices, the revelation of which would have fallen 
like a thunderbolt upon Scioga, the church and his business con- 
nections, and safe, too, in his plans for the future — at such a 
time he had been sternly brought face to face with his hypocrisy 
by one whom he had injured and despised ; had been compelled 
by fear of the consequences to humble himself before the board, 
and to restore this avenger, this personified conscience, to his 
place. 

For what? What were to be the consequences? 

Was this youth, this mere boy, holding the threat of discovery 
over him, to be a spy upon his every word and act? Had Carson 
Newbold thus created the instrument that was to work his own 
downfall ? 

The ground seemed sinking beneath him ; he saw himself dis- 
graced, hurled from the lofty heights of power, influence and 
honor that he had long occupied, perhaps arraigned before a 
court of justice. In the tumult of his brain the penitentiary 
stood gloomily in the background. 

He could not think ; the sounds and the sights of the hour 
passed vaguely before his senses. He heard the newsboys crying 
the evening papers, with accounts of a steamship disaster on the 
Pacific and a shocking murder in Philadelphia, but he hardly 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


17 


knew what was meant. He met men who bowed respectfully 
and ladies who smiled in cheerful recognition ; he mechanically 
touched his hat as he passed. He merely recognized them, but 
could not have spoken their names. 

He reached Paradise Avenue, and traversed one of its broad 
walks between leafy elms and maples and green lawns, until he 
came to a handsome Queen Ann style of' house, fronted with 
well-kept grounds which were diversified with flowers and foun- 
tains. He walked slowly up to the door. On the piazza sat a 
matronly woman in a rich afternoon costume. She was quite 
fine looking, with dark hair and eyes and regular features, but 
with a coldness of manner 
which was only removed 
outside her own family cir- 
cle. A spectator of the 
meeting that now occurred 
must have been told that 
these two were man and 
wife, in order to believe it ; 
he never would have known 
the fact from appearances. 

The lady had looked up from 
her French novel upon his 
approach, and had immedi- 
ately returned to it. Only Upon his appearance, the lady 
when his foot was upon the looked up. 

first step did she raise her eyes again. A cold nod was her only 
salutation. 

“Is dinner ready, Frances? ” 

“I believe so . 11 

“Well, I’m not hungry, but we might as well have it over. 
We can go through the motions.” 

He followed her through the spacious hall into the dining- 
room, where the meal was immediately served. Everything 
around them, the appointments, the finishings, the furniture, 
showed the hand of wealth and taste. Why was this not a 



18 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


happy home? The public said that it was— a model one. They 
judged from outward appearances, from the apparent prosperity 
of Mr. Newbold, from the fact that the wife and daughter rode 
out in the carriage, that the three appeared at church together, 
and that madam received her callers with sprightly ease and 
graceful chat. The public knew nothing of the skeleton in that 
family closet, of the marriage of convenience that had united 
these uncongenial hearts far from Scioga, almost twenty years 
back, nor of the daily sufferance with which the irksome yoke 
was borne. The public failed to remember, that 

“By the fireside tragedies are acted, 
la whose scenes appear two actors only, 

Wife and husband, 

And above them, God, the sole spectator.” 

She ate a little ; he only tasted of one course after another and 
pushed them away. There was a painful silence. 

“Where is Violetta?” he asked. 

“ Calling or shopping, I suppose.” 

“ Frances, I want to ask you a question.” 

“Indeed!” Her voice had a sarcastic inflection. “You don’t 
often honor me with so much confidence.” 

He seemed not to notice the sneer. 

“ Do you know young Barnard, whom we discharged from the 
bank some months ago ? ” * 

“ I believe I .knew of the existence of some such a person. I 
never knew that he was either in the bank or out of it.” 

“We have taken him back to-day.” 

She heard the statement with indifference, and made no reply. 

“ He used to pay some attention to Vi.” 

No answer. She looked curiously at him. 

“Don’t you recall the fact?” Mr. Newbold sharply asked. 

“I do not. Why should I? You and your daughter have 
always been quite sufficient to yourselves in all things that re- 
lated to her. I never have been consulted about them, and never 
expected to be.” 

“You never interested yourself about her.” 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


19 


“Have it your own way. We can’t talk about that or about 
anything without quarreling ; I think we’d better not talk at all. 
This conversation is none of my bringing on. Shall I ring for 
dessert? ” 

“If you please. I merely wish to add that — that if George 
Barnard chooses to call here now, I don’t object.” 

Mrs. Newbold elevated her black brows, and rose from the 
table. She was oppressed by his company. 

“ If you’ll excuse me, I will resume my book.” 

“Will you—” 

She looked impatiently at him as he hesitated. . 

“Will you tell her what I just said? ” 

“ Who — Violetta? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Carson Newbold, what’s the matter with you? Who is this 
man that you’re making such a to-do about? ” 

“He’s all right — except that he’s poor. I was a little hasty 
about him.” 

“Why don’t you tell her yourself?” 

“ Because three months ago I forbade her to see him. I had 
some dreams then of marrying her to a rich man. I’ve thought 
better of that. It’s better not to interfere. The only true 
marriage is that of the heart.” 

She laughed. It was forced mirth. 

“ You are really getting sentimental. Why didn’t you think 
of this twenty years ago ? ” 

He leaned his forehead on his hand and said nothing. 

“ I don’t see yet why you can’t tell her.” 

“ It would humiliate me.” 

Madam shrugged her shoulders and coughed. 

“I have been humbled to-day more than I can stand,’’ he 
cried, losing his self-control. “How much there is of the same 
kind before me, I don’t know and you don’t care. No matter ; I 
don’t want you either to know or to care. But when did I ever 
ask a favor of you? Is this one too small for even you to 
refuse ? ” 


20 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“Oh, I suppose I can tell her. It seems like a trivial little 
affair to me ; but, as usual, there is some secret at the bottom of 
it that you don’t choose to disclose to your wife. How is it — 
that young Mr. Barnard may call on Vi, if he wants to P Very 
well-; I’ll tell her as soon as she comes home.” 

“Thank you. I shall probably be out to-night. You may 
lock up ; I have my latch-key.” 

“ It would be* an amazing occurrence if you didn’t go out to- 
night and every other night. But suit yourself. I’m not even 
entitled to be consulted. Go your own ways.” 

The stately skirts swept through the doorway and the hall. 

He looked from the place 
where she had sat around 
the room, so cheerful, yet so 
desolate — and a deep sigh 
agitated him. He leaned 
his head upon his hand 
again and was lost in 
thought. 

The ormolu clock on the 
mantel chimed five and then 
the half hour. The man 
sat irresolute. Exclama- 
tions, disjointed fragments 
of speech, dropped from his 
lips. The servant came in to clear the table, and withdrew upon 
seeing him. Six o’clock struck. 

There was a flutter, a little rush in the hall, like the rise of a 
flock of birds, and the glad warble of a snatch of song. A 
beautiful apparition burst in, bright, joyous, overrunning with 
life and health, and the freedom of eighteen years. Her blue 
eyes shone, her face was sunny with smiles ; she threw her hat 
on the floor, ran to Newbold and kissed him. 



CHAPTER IV. 


BETWEEN AKGEL AHD DEMOH. 


he sat upon his knee and put an arm around 
his neck. Seen thus together, their faces 
were strikingly alike in contour and feature ; 
but all that his cold visage lacked in ex- 
pression appeared in hers. 

“ Dear father,” she said, using the homely 
old word without stopping to think that it 
was not good form, “Dear father, I am so very sorry I wasn’t 
here to dine with you. I meant to get back in time, but I was 
making calls, and Lou Beaman urged me so hard to stay with 
her to dinner that I couldn’t refuse. Are you tired? You look 
so. Let me get the camphor or something for your head.” 



“No, I am not tired. Have the table cleared, I want to talk 
with you.” 

When this was done she came and stood by him, timidly ex- 
pecting what was coming next. 

“Vi, did your mother tell you something as you came in? ” 
The color came to her cheek. 

“ Yes, father.” 

“What do you think of it? ” 

“ I thought it queer to have her tell me. She never — ” 

“No matter about that. What did you think of it? ” 

Her gentle fingers pulled an inoffensive rose to pieces, but she 
said nothing. 

“ Did it please you ? ” 

“A — a little.” 

“ Vi, be frank with me. Were you sorry when I told you that 
you must not see that young man any more?” 

She raised her eyes. Her bosom was heaving. He heard 

something like a sob, but she was silent. 

f211 


22 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“ Have you seen him since ? ” 

Her voice trembled, but she managed to control herself a little 
longer. 

“Only in the street. He would speak to me ; I couldn’t help 
hearing what he said. Yesterday I met him, and he almost 
frightened me, he was so wild. Poor fellow ! I’m afraid he is 
in some dreadful trouble. But may he really come here again?” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“ He talked about you, father ; he said you had ruined his repu- 
tation, and that you must 
set him right.” 

“ He won’t say that any 
more. He is back in the 
bank again.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad ! 
Did you do it? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Of course it was you ; 
it is just like you, father. 
What did George do so 
dreadful that he had to 
go?” 

“Nothing. It was all a 
mistake. Say no more 
about it.” 

She hesitated. “May I write him a little note that he may 
come? ” 

“ If you wish to, Vi — ” 

Her eyes fell at his tone. 

“ Do you love that young man? ” 

“Why, father !” she exclaimed, with a fine show of surprise. 
“ Who ever thought of such a thing? I like to have him call be- 
cause he’s such good company, and he looks and acts like some- 
thing more than a tailor’s effigy, and that’s more than you can 
say of about half of the young men in Scioga.” 

“Well. Be polite to him. Have him come here if it’s agreea- 



Violet Pulled to Pieces an Inoffensive 
Rose. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


23 


ble to you. But I don’t ask you to love him — remember that, 
Vi, will you? ” 

“I don’t mean to love anybody but you — and mother (with 
some hesitation) — for a good while yet. But what makes you 
look and talk so fierce about him now? I thought you wasn’t 
angry with him any more ; but — ” 

“I’m not. It’s no matter. We won’t mention it again. Let 
us talk about something else.” 

“You are tired, father, or disturbed about something. Shall I 
read to you, or shall we play backgammon ? ” 

“Neither, Vi. What time is it? Almost seven. I must go 
down again to-night.” 

“ Oh, please do stay home. You never spend your evenings with 
us any more, as you used to do. Now stay to-night — do stay, 
just for me ! I’ll begin to think you don’t love me as you did.” 

“You know better, Vi.” 

- “ Then stay with me.” 

She had almost won his consent ; she saw that he wavered, but 
she could not know the fierce combat that was then waged over 
him by herself and an unseen foe. The demon conquered. 

He shook off her hands impatiently. 

“Not to-night, child, I tell you. I must know better than you 
what the necessities of business are.” 

Her eyes were dimmed with the disappointment. 

“ May I sit up for you ? ” she pleaded. 

“ No ; I charge you not to. I may have to stay late, and there 
is no need for you to exhaust yourself waiting for me. Good-by, 
girl ; you’ll see me in the morning.” 

He gave her a hurried kiss and left the room. He ascended 
the stairs rapidly, entered a door in the upper hall, locked it after 
him, and threw himself upon a bed. For ten minutes he lay 
there silent, his face buried in the pillow. What were his 
thoughts — or, did he pray, asking for a strength that he had not 
to keep him from the rush of the vortex that was drawing him 
under? We may not know. When he rose, all traces of the 
struggle were gone, and his face was marble again. 


24 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


He went to the bureau and lit the gas. Unlocking a small 
drawer he took from it a picture in a case and looked long and 
fixedly at it. A woman’s face — a woman, young and fair — not 
his wife, nor yet his daughter. It was the memento of an old, 
unhappy love, long buried in the past — a love that had lived and 
died before either wife or daughter were known to him. There 
was more than one skeleton in that home. 

He put the picture back ; he slammed and locked the drawer 
with a burst of anger, and then he unlocked and opened a larger 
drawer. A fine sight was that within — treasury notes and 
national bank notes tied up in thick bundles, gold and silver in 

handfuls, other bundles of 
papers which might have 
been, by the appearance 


of the packages, United 
States or railroad bonds. 
He leaned upon the open 
drawer, gazed at its con- 
tents, and was again im- 
mersed in painful thought. 
He talked involuntarily ; 
men often do when beset 
by the temptations that 
are dragging them down. 

“I’d like to stop,” he 
said. 

not like to stop on Ins 
on that descent has i\ot 



A Memento of an Old, Unhappy Love. 


Aye, unhappy man! Who would 
downward course? Who, like you, 
struggled and cried out and tried in vain to stay his feet ? 

He went back in thought only four months. Only so short a 
time as that and he had days without care, nights untroubled by 
conscience, a mind at peace. 

“ But I can’t stop. I must get back what I’ve lost. There’s 
risk enough in going on, God knows, but there’s more in 
standing still. Pshaw! Why do I hesitate? There’s no safety 
but this.” 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


25 


Taking two large packages of notes from the drawer, he placed 
them in his inner coat-pocket. 

Both his wife and daughter observed his exit from the house a 
few minutes later. Did either suspect his business for that 
night? Again he walked the streets ; this time under the glare 
of the electric lights. He was everywhere recognized and saluted ; 
men stopped to exchange a word with him, and some felt proud 
of the privilege. He went into a reading room, pretended to 
look over a file of papers, and waited impatiently for the night 
to advance. The hours went by ; the crowd upon the street was 
thinned. He went forth again, walked over to a side street, 
traversed it for some distance, and disappeared. He was lost for 
hours, as men are lost who shine forth fair and white in the day 
time, but whom the wicked clutch of night drags away to her- 
self. In those hours Carson Newbold was not himself. The 
fiend had him — the devil of gaming. 

It was three o’clock in the morning when he returned home. 
Save the solitary policeman that he passed, the streets were 
deserted. He was intoxicated ; not the intoxication of wine, hut 
that of gain. He had brought away all that he carried to the 
gambling-den, and a thousand dollars more. 

Elevated by his success, his fears for the future quieted for the 
moment. He was almost in sight of his home before he dis- 
covered that he was being followed. He had not seen a figure 
crouching down in the shadows when he, with a dozen others, 
came out into the alley in the rear of the building where these 
stealthy hours had been passed. He did not notice the lurking 
man who picked him out from the others, and skulking along in 
the gloom of the buildings, kept him always in sight. 

At last, hearing a footstep, he stopped and looked back. He 
was quick enough to see a man spring behind a tree. He 
went on and hid himself behind one of the large elms in front 
of his residence. The shadower came slowly and cautiously 
along. 

Newbold rushed out upon him. “Who are you?” he de- 
manded. 


26 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


The man quickly drew his slouch hat over his face, slipped 
under the cashier’s arm and ran swiftly away. 

“ It is that cursed hoy,” was Newbold’s angry comment, as he 
admitted himself to the house with his latch-key. 

He had the rare faculty of being able to fall asleep, notwith- 
standing the influence of excitement. In the morning he met 



his wife and daughter at the breakfast-table, apparently serene 
and composed. The present of an hundred-doll ar note to the one 
and a fifty-dollar note to the other naturally brought up the 
subject of business. 

“You work too hard, father,” said Violetta.’ 

“Such irregular hours will kill any man,” observed Mrs. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


27 


Newbold, with no more sympathy or anxiety in her tone than 
she would have put into any mere statement of fact. 

“It can’t be helped,” remarked the cashier decidedly, as he 
sipped his coffee, “I have large and perplexing interests to 
attend to.” 

“I was expecting to go to the Catskills next week,” Mrs. 
Newbold said. “ I suppose that such a thing as your going along 
would be impossible.” 

She looked straight at her husband. 

“ Yes, quite impossible at this season of the year,” was the reply. 

“ Still, this is the season when people go to such places, if ever.” 

“ I don’t. It’s not to be thought of for me. Recreation and 
rest must wait.” 

“It’s just what I expected. I hadn’t the remotest idea you’d 
want to go with me. I only mentioned it — ” 

“ Frances, you know — ” 

“ I don’t know anything about it. I might say that I care less. 
Violetta, I suppose you’d prefer to stay here with your father? ” 

The question was an invitation to remain, and the girl so 
understood it. 

“Yes, mother, I think I’d better stay and take care of him.” 

“Well, I’m glad we’re all so well suited ; and since something 
might occur within a few days to interfere with this pleasant 
understanding, I think I’ll go to-day. I hope to see you both 
before leaving.” 

She left the table. A cold wind blowing over it could not have 
been more chilling. 

“Dear me, what can make mother so cross?” Violetta cried. 
“Such a sudden freak, too.” 

“ It don’t matter ; it’s a steady thing,” Mr. Newbold said. 
“Vi, did you write to that young fellow? ” 

“Yes, father, you told me to.” 

“When I gave you permission to,” was the frowning rejoinder, 
“ I didn’t expect you’d be in such a hurry about it.” 

And as Newbold walked down street that morning he 
muttered, “ That fellow must be muzzled.” 


CHAPTER V. 

THE EARTH TREMBLES. 

he cashier was at his desk soon after nine 
o’clock. He let himself in with his pass- 
key, and found the janitor sweeping and 
dusting. The janitor was surprised ; the 
office boys, the clerks, the bookkeepers, who 
successively came, thought it strange to see 
Mr. Newbold at his desk so early. 

George Barnard came in ten minutes before the time of 
opening, and was immediately beckoned to the cashier’s desk. 
The young man was calm and firm, but not at all defiant in his 
demeanor. 

“I must talk with you again,” said Mr. Newbold. U I don’t 
want to excite the remark that might follow my taking you 
again into my private office so soon. Speak low ; we shall not be 
overheard here, at this hour. I want to ask you if you have 
anything to communiqate to me.” 

“Nothing,” replied the bookkeeper. 

“Not even that you have received a letter from my daughter 
since we talked here ? ” asked the cashier, with a dismal attempt 
at pleasantry. 

“No, sir. If I have, it is not for me to report that to you. I 
rather suspect that she has received liberty to treat me as I am 
entitled to be treated. Indeed, I know she has. I am satisfied. 
You have done more than I asked.” 

“ I don’t think you have answered my question very fully, Mr. 
Barnard. You will please understand that I gave that permis- 
sion to Vi ; I should scorn to give her any commands on such a 
subject. Having settled that matter, I will ask you again if you 
have nothing to tell me this morning?” 

Barnard looked surprised. 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


29 


u I don’t know what yon mean,” he said. 

The cashier looked searchingly at him. His look was returned 
without flinching. 

“What can he mean?” the bookkeeper questioned himself. 

“The fellow has all the impudence of the devil,” Newbold 
thought. 

“I will tell you what I mean,” he said. “I will tell you first 
at whatever risk of consequences, I will not have you here to be 
a daily spy upon my actions. You came back here by the aid of 
a threat that I did not feel like disregarding ; but I tell you 
plainly, if you are to spy my conduct here and dog my steps 
elsewhere, I won’t have you around here. I will turn you out 
again and take the consequences.” 

The face of the bookkeeper glowed with indignation. 

“Mr. Newbold,” he said, “ I shall neither spy upon you here nor 
follow you elsewhere. I told you yesterday that I would not 
betray you. I meant it. I resorted to a threat only when all 
else failed, and when there seemed no other wav to get myself 
righted. I succeeded, but I say to you now that if you are to 
hold me in constant suspicion as a spy, I will resign my place here 
at once and go elsewhere. There will be no trouble about my 
getting letters enough from here now.” 

“Fine talk!” Newbold sneered. “But you were in some 
hiding-place between two and three this morning, and saw me 
come out from the rear of the Industrial building.” 

“ I was not there ; I did not see you,” was the prompt reply. 

A cold chill ran down the cashier’s back. New terrors 
darkened before him. 

“What? Didn’t you follow me home, and run away when I 
turned upon you?” 

“No ; I went to bed at my boarding-house at ten o’clock and 
slept till six. I was not outside of my room between those hours.” 

Mr. Newbold looked hard at the speaker, and speedily con- 
vinced himself that he was telling the truth. 

“ I was mistaken, then,” he faintly said. “ You won’t mention 
this?” 


30 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“ Of course not, sir.” 

“You may go to your desk.” 

The bank had opened for business ; the carrier had brought in 
a large package of letters and handed them to the cashier through 
his window. Mechanically, Newbold opened one of them, glanced 
at the in closure, and then let his eyes wander out to the street 
and the people who were coming in to see the paying-teller. 

Somebody had shadowed him in the early hours of that morn- 
ing — somebody who was not George Barnard. Who could it have 
been? By whom was he employed? For what object? 

Swiftly these questions ran through his brain ; swiftly he 
jumped at a conclusion. Right or wrong, it was the only one 
possible under the circumstances. Never before yesterday had 
any hint of a suspicion as to his official or private conduct 
reached him. He believed that the cause of this surveillance 
could not be traced back further than the preceding day. It was, 
of course, possible that George Barnard had betrayed him, but he 
did not believe it. Candor and honesty were in that face and 
voice. Besides — Violetta. 

No professional detective, such as Barnard had spoken of, 
surveying the gaming-room from some safe nook, would need to 
follow him home, because such an one would recognize every man 
about the gaming-table. But the one who had dogged him must 
have done it to identify him. 

What, then, had turned suspicion suddenly upon his own life 
and habits? Could it be the mere facts of his being secluded for 
half an hour with Barnard during bank hours, and his statement 
made later to the directors? No. These by themselves would 
lead to no inference that he was a gambler, or otherwise 
unworthy of confidence. 

If Barnard was really true to him, then some inkling of the 
truth must have escaped from his private office. It is difficult to 
see how they could have been overheard, but no other theory, 
outside of Barnard, was possible. 

What then? It was evident enough that some person besides 
Barnard had learned that he frequented the gaming-room. Did 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


31 


any of the directors know it? Had any of them set a detective 
to work? With these disturbing questions in his mind, he went 
on examining the mail. 

“Well, Mr. Newbold,” said a voice at his window, “I hope 
you’ll attend to me now. I don’t like the way you put me off 
yesterday.” 

The cashier looked up. It was Mr. Marsh, the man he had 
turned away the day before when he invited George Barnard into 
his private office. 

“ What is it? ” he asked. 

“ You’ve got in your safe-chamber some Sicosset and Blenheim 
first mortgage railroad bonds for ten thousand dollars, deposited 
here a year ago for safe keeping. ’ Twant business-like, of course ; 
the Safe Deposit Company’s the correct thing, but some of the 
heirs thought ’twas best, and so ’twas done. I’ll trouble you 
for ’em.” 

A sickish tremor shot through Mr. Newbold’s nerves ; but he 
“kept his head.” 

“ The memorandum accompanying them says they are to be 
delivered up only to the administrator of the Dye estate. There 
have been very hotly-contested proceedings as to who should be 
administrator ; they cannot be terminated for a year yet. What 
authority have you got to demand those'bonds? ” 

“ The proceedings have been terminated. The heirs got sick of 
lawing, and agreed I should be administrator. Here’s a copy of 
my letters, certified by the surrogate.” 

With a sinking heart did Newbold take the formally-executed 
document and look it over. It was in all respects correct, 
including the broad seal and the official signature at the end. 
The bonds were at that moment in the bureau drawer of his bed- 
room, at home. In a week more they would have been negotiated 
in New York. There* was nowhere on them any evidence of 
ownership, and the cashier knew he could raise money on them. 

“All right, Mr. Marsh,” Newbold jauntily said. “Come in at 
two o’clock and you shall have them.” 

“I won’t do it,” the man sturdily replied. “You turned me off 


82 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


yesterday ; I’ll wait, bow, till I get ’em. It’s only takin’ ’em out 
of your safe-chamber, there. My time’s as good as yours.” 

Had this call come before Mr. Newbold had felt the ground 
quaking under his feet, before terrors and accusations were 
dreaded from every man whose face appeared at his window, he 
would calmly and superciliously have put Mr. Marsh off till two 
o’clock, taking his irritation as a thing of no moment. Now, he 
dared not do it. Even while he hesitated and glanced at half a 
dozen impatient applicants behind the burly form of the angry 
administrator, the latter spurred him with the threat : 

u If you won’t ’tend to me, I’ll get somebody that will. Mr. 
Barkley is a friend of mine, and ” 

The cashier plucked up his courage and took a new hold upon 
himself. 

“My dear Mr. Marsh,” he said, “nobody wants to embarrass or 
delay you a moment. You see the cue of men behind you, all 
waiting for me ? If you will step into the parlor and wait a very 
few minutes, I will have one of the clerks look up the bonds.” 

The administrator complied. With a hurried “ one moment ” 
to those waiting outside, Newbold turned to his desk and wrote 
off the following note : 

Dear Vi:— Go to my room— my own room— open the large drawer in 
the bureau with this key, take out a package of S. & B. R. R. bonds, do 
them up in a newspaper and give them to the bearer. Don’t say a word 
about what you see in the drawer. Father. 

He put the note with a key into an envelope, sealed and directed 
it, and rapped for a messenger. George Barnard came to his desk. 

“The boys are all out,” he said, “and everybody is extra busy 
but me. What shall I do ? ” 

The man at whose secret soul tefror was gnawing could not 
wait. He handed Barnard the envelope. 

“Take it to my house and get a package. Stay — take a car- 
riage. Make speed.” 

He handed him a dollar and saw him go. For the next twenty 
minutes, with iron nerve and firm grip on himself, did Mr. New- 
bold attend to the business at the window, and once, when Mr. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


33 


Marsh’s face was thrust out from the parlor doorway, and his 
querulous voice asked, “Ain’t them bonds ready yet? ” he replied, 
“ In five minutes.” 

As he stood at the window, a hand was laid lightly on his 
shoulder, and Barnard whispered in his ear, “There — on your 
desk.” When Mr. Marsh next came out, the cashier said to a 
clerk in a loud voice : 

“ Write a receipt for these bonds, to be signed by Ezekiel Marsh, 
as administrator of the Dye estate. Sorry to have troubled you, 
Mr. Marsh ; all owing to a rush of business.” 

The day went on till the 
closing hour. George Bar- 
nard’s work continued for 
two hours longer. On get- 
ting into the street he was 
joined by the cashier. The 
latter’s appearance startled 
him. 

“Walk along with me, 

Mr. Barnard,” he said, “I 
don’t want to attract atten- 
tion by talking here.” 

Together they walked 
across Large street, where 

the crowd was passing, and he handed him a dollar. 

they talked, as others did, about the weather. When they were 
beyond hearing on a cross street, Mr. Newbold stopped. 

“You saw Yi at the house?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Was her mother there?” 

“ She was just going to the train in her carriage.” 

“ Did Vi get those bonds for you herself ? ” 

The bookkeeper hesitated. 

“ Speak ! ” Newbold fiercely said. 

“She tried to* but she could not pick them out.” 

That white face grew whiter still. 



84 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“Well?” tlie cashier questioned. 

“She asked me to come up and find them.” 

“Great heavens ! You did it? ” 

“What else could I do? You had told me to hurry; I knew 
you had no time to lose.” 

“ And you saw what was in that drawer — you saw it all?” 

“I did. Notes and specie in large quantities, and — more 
bonds.” 

Newbold clutched his companion by the arm. 

“Do you know that you can send me to the state’s prison? ” 
he hoarsely demanded. 

Barnard struggled to he calm. “ I believe I could,” he slowly 
replied, “but I never will.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Because you are Violetta’s father.” 



# 


CHAPTER YI. 

THE NET DRAWS. 

hey walked slowly along together, observing none 
of the chance passers, greeting none of them. 
Barnard's eyes were fixed straight ahead on the 
sidewalk ; those of his companion again and again 
searched his face. They approached Mr. Newbold’s 
house. 

“Will you come in?” the cashier asked. “Vi 
will probably invite you to dinner.” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“I am not calm enough to meet her just now, nor to stay in 
your company. I want a little time to think. I've hardly been 
myself all day, since — I saw that. But I do want to talk with 
you.” 

“ There will be a good opportunity in the house, after dinner.” 

“I can’t meet her now, I tell you,” Barnard firmly repeated. 
“ If you don’t want me to betray you to your own child by my 
looks and actions, don’t ask me to see her at present.” 

Mr. Newbold lost the appearance of composure that he had 
assumed. 

“ You promised not to betray me,” he almost whined. 

“ I will not, or I will try not to. Let me go now ; this evening 
you shall know all that is on my mind.” 

“ Where shall we meet ? ” 

“Here, if you will. At twelve o’clock — midnight — I shall 
pass here, then Ijsvill tell you.” 

“ And I the meantime ? ” 

“You must trust to my word.” 

Mr. Newbold had grasped his wrist in fresh alarm, 

“ George, what are you contriving?” he asked. 



36 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“ For my own peace of mind,” was the answer. “ But I shall 
do nothing to imperil your safety.” 

The cashier released his hand, and Barnard turned and walked 
rapidly away. 

Violetta met her father at the lawn-walk, and put her arm 
through his as they went up to the door. 

“ I’ve been so lonely to-day, father,” she said, “with nobody in 
the house but Margaret and John. Was not that George with 
you?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Why didn’t you bring him in? ” 

“He would not come. Is your dinner ready?” 

“Yes, all ready. I prepared a good deal of it myself.” 

As they sat at the table, the daughter interrupted the flow of 
her sprightly talk to say : 

“ Oh, I forgot. Mother left a note for you. She told me to 
be sure to give it to you to-night.” 

With a swift premonition of something disagreeable, if not 
threatening, Mr. Newbold opened it. All his great command of 
countenance was necessary as he read the large characters of his 
wife’s handwriting : 

Mr. Newbold:— Did it not occur to you during our brief interview of 
this morning that there were reasons why the absence I proposed should 
be a final one? Well, there are such reasons; they are as well known to 
you as to me. 

There is no use of my reviewing here the miserable story of our do- 
mestic life for twenty years. Let it pass. “ Anything for appearances ” 
has been my motto, and the farce has been, on the whole, well played. 
For appearances only, for the repose of the best society in Scioga, for the 
tranquility of the church, and even for your standing in business, I 
might consent to wear the mask for an indefinite period longer. But the 
plain truth is, Carson Newbold, you are going to the devil about as rapid- 
ly as a man can go. Knowing this to be so, I don’t choose to involve 
myself in your wreck. I withdraw from the concerik while it is seem- 
ingly prosperous. This is plain enough, certainly, and some of it is not 
prettily stated. No matter, it is the truth. 

Not to delay my explanation, you are informed that I know where and 
how your nights away from home have, been passed for some weeks. I 
suppose my association with you has made me a business woman; at 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


37 


least, I went about the matter in a businesslike way. I employed a 
detective. 

Right here, let me do you one little piece of justice, Mr. Newbold. You 
are not quite as bad as I had thought. I was prepared to learn that you 
were unfaithful to me. I should have made that discovery with perfect 
equanimity; considering what our relations have been, that was about 
what was to be expected of you, or, perhaps, of the average man. To be 
sure, I had some little curiosity to know who the woman in the case 
might be, and of course the natural result of such a state of things would 
have been much the same as is happening now. 

To my amazement, I learned that you were faithful to your vows. Car- 
son, I yield to you my faint tribute of admiration! You have not loved 
me — you have not pretended to — but you have shown me a respect for 
which, in a mild way, I am grateful. Still, you have a mistress more 
dangerous to you than any woman could be. You are the slave of the 
gaming-table. Your ruin is 
as certain as though it were 
already accomplished. Dis- 
honor in business, in society, 
in the church, everywhere, is 
before you. And the fidelity 
with which you devote your- 
self to this horrible vice has 
satisfied me that the day of 
reckoning cannot be far off. 

Now you know the reason 
for the step I am taking. No- 
body else need know it, at 
least for the present. When 
the grand catastrophe comes, 
people will, of course, surmise 
what moved me. In the 
meantime, society will be 
preserved from any rude 
shock— scandal will be avoided. The Scioga Weekly Bon-ton will say 
that Mrs. Carson Newbold has gone to the Catskills for a few weeks. 

As for Vi— well, what can I say about Vi? I am her mother, to be sure, 
but I don’t feel much responsibility for her. She’s a good girl, or you 
would have spoiled her with your foolishness. If civcumstances should 
prevent your caring for her, after a little, you’d better let that book- 
keeper have her. That is— unless she can do better. 

You will remember that the title to this house is in my name. Didn’t 
I tell you that I am a business woman? You may continue to occupy it 
for the present, of course. When I shall feel like selling it, what real 
estate agent in Scioga would you recommend? 

Well, good-by, Mr. Newbold. You’ll probably feel no concern for my 



Newbold Reads a Note from his Wife. 


38 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


finances; if you should, I remind you that my father in Indianapolis is 
very wealthy. The place will be handy for another reason: Indiana 
divorce courts are said to be very accommodating A pen-and-ink fare- 
well is really the correct thing. It saves all nonsense and awkwardness. 

Frances. 

P. S —Of course the postscript ! I came near forgetting to tell you that 
my detective is not a professional. He probably has none of the ideas of 
honor which I am told prevail in that lofty calling. He is a low fellow 
by the name of Budd; you probably know him. He may be minded to 
make further profit out of the knowledge for which I have already paid 
him. You would do well to look out for him. F. 

“What does she say, father? 

He crumpled letter and envelope and thrust them together into 
his pocket ; at least, he meant to do so. 

“Nothing. Eat your dinner; don’t mind me. I’ve thought 
of something down street that must be seen to right away ” 

She looked anxiously at his face, but. did not remonstrate. 
Something there terrified her. She had never seen him so 
moved. 


CHAPTER VII. 

IK THE WOFUL NIGHT. 

K. Newbold wanted to be alone and think over 
his position. He walked rapidly out to the 
suburbs, and struck into a country road. The 
night came on slowly as he went on ; he did 
not heed it, nor the distance between himself 
and his home. 

Only a few hours more than twenty-four 
had passed sinc^the first threatening shadow of exposure had 
fallen upon him. Since then the shadows had been gathering 
dark and deep. He had begun to look with a certain complacency 
upon George Barnard’s Jm° w l e dge of his irregularities. The 
young man was in love with his daughter, and he could trust to 
his assurance that he would not betray him. Some uneasiness 
had arisen in his mind on account of Barnard’s words and man- 
ner as they had walked together that evening ; but still they were 
not threatening. Whatever might happen in that quarter, he 
was sure that he need feel no alarm. Time was everything to 
him now, and he was satisfied that no sudden accusation would 
come from the bookkeeper ; he hoped none at all. 

But the letter from his wife — that filled him with fresh tremors. 
He was a trifle surprised, but not in the least agitated by her 
declaration that she would live with him no longer. Had that 
been the only announcement of the letter, he would have dis- 
missed the subject from his mind at once. Madam might live in 
Scioga, Indianapolis, or where she pleased, he was indifferent, so 
long as no public scandal rose from the fact. The only part of 
the letter that strongly impressed him was that relating to the 
detective. He saw a danger here that was alarming. His wife’s 
caution as to what might happen from this person’s greed and 
venality touched a sensitive chord. He did not recall the man, 



40 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


but his wife’s description of him was not reassuring. He might 
do incalculable mischief by seeking to trade elsewhere on his in- 
formation. Or, if he came directly to himself — must he submit 
to pay hush-money, to put himself in this fellow’s power? 

“After all,” Mr. Newbold reflected, summoning a spasm of 
bravado to his aid, “ the only, way to treat these things is to face 
them down. Suppose it can be proved that I have spent some 
nights with the gamblers, what of it? Not a pretty accusation 
for me to face, to be sure ; but worse things than that have been 
lived through. Great Scott! But it would create a sensation m 

the board if it were known, 
and then it might easily 
lead to an inquiry — ” 

Here his thoughts 
stopped. A dozen times 
he had tried to reason out 
this contingency and its 
consequences, and he had 
always halted at the point 
where suspicion led to in- 
vestigation and alarm. 
Further than that he could 
not go. 

He paused in his walk, 
“i Want a thousand Dollars.” He had reached the sum- 
mit of an elevation three miles from Scioga. Dusk was giving 
way to darkness. He could dimly make out the outline of the 
town below him by the thousand lights that twinkled from it, 
while an electric flame shot up here and there. 

“I don’t think I’m ready to give all that up, yet ,” he muttered. 
“No, I’ll not be scared ; I’ll stay and brave it out.” 

From the darkness of the roadway he saw a figure emerging — 
the figure of a man. He came straight toward the cashier ; he 
came so close to him that the latter jumped back angrily. 

“Fellow, what do you want?” he exclaimed. 

“ If you put it that way, sir, I want a thousand dollars.” 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


41 


The cold chills crept down Mr. Newbold’s spine. The man 
was shabby in dress, rude in speech, and had a coarse face, now 
that a sight of it could be had. But he did not seem like a high- 
wayman, for neither bludgeon nor pistol were in sight. 

“Do you mean to rob me? ” Newbold asked. 

“*Why, no, I believe that’s not what they call it. I’ll introduce 
myself ; you may have heard my name before. It is Saul Budd.” 

The cashier started, remembering his wife's postscript. 

u Ah, I see you have heard of it. I guess we can come to terms 
pretty quick.” 

“Fellow, what do you mean?” 

“ Oh, come, now, Mr. Newbold, don’t put on any frills ; it 
won’t do with me. Either you pay me one thousand dollars to 
keep mum, or I’ll get as much somewhere else for blowing on 
you. I guess you know well enough what I mean.” 

There was no immediate reply. The would-be blackmailer 
gave his victim a moment to think. 

“ I have not as much as twenty dollars with me.” 

“You can get a thousand easy enough in town.” 

“Have you been following me out here to-night?” 

“ To be sure.” 

“What for?” 

The man laughed. 

“ Why shouldn’t I? That’s my business. I’ve been following 
you ’round a great deal lately, for — for other folks. Just now, 
I’m looking after you on my own account. I hardly thought 
you was up to taking French leave — not just yet ; but there’s 
nothing like keeping your bird m sight. Are you going to pay 
me the money? ” 

“ What if I refuse ? ” 

“ I’ll go straight to old Barkley. I wouldn't wait till morn- 
•ing. I’d go to-night. If the old man was in bed, I’d have him 
out. Oh, I tell you, sir, people do take a good deal of trouble 
when Saul Budd calls, for he’s always got something to tell, if 
he's a mind to tell it. He ain’t pretty to look at, but he knows 
some things. So I’ll say to old Barkley and his night-cap : ‘Nice 


42 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


man you’ve got for cashier of your bank, now, haven’t you?’ 
‘What do you mean?’ he says. ‘I mean he’s lost more than 
twenty thousand dollars of the bank’s money in that den up in 
the Industrial in the last four months.' ‘It’s a lie,’ says he. 
‘ It’s the truth,’ says I, ‘ and for a thousand dollars I’ll prove it 
to you.’ And I can prove it.” 

“Stop!” groaned the victim. “If I give you what you ask, 
will you promise to let me alone for the future, and to say no 
more about this ? ” 

“Why, of course,” answered Budd, with the tongue of a ready 
liar, and a familiar wink. 

“ I’ll hand you the money to-morrow.” 

“ Where and when ? ” 

“ On my way to the bank. Meet me just this side of my house, 
a little after nine.” 

“ It won’t do, Mr. Newbold.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“ I know what I’m about. I’ve put it in your power to make 
a complaint against me for attempted blackmail, and have me 
arrested, if you were hardy enough to try it. I don’t think you 
would, but I’d rather be safe. I’ll walk home with you to-night, 
and you can get me the money.” 

“ There is no money in the house 

“You are a liar.” 

The man said it just as coolly as he would have asked the time 
of day. Nr. Newbold was in a transport of rage. “Now, don’t 
excite yourself, sir,” said the blackmailer. “ It’ll be a great deal 
better for you to take this thing cool. Of course, you keep money 
handy to go off nights and gamble with. That was only a guess ; 
bat I know the habits of such men as you. What do you say?” 

“ Come along,” was the brief reply, and Mr. Newbold strode off 
toward the town, followed by the blackmailer. 

In the same hour the humiliating transaction which put the 
cashier in the power of this man was consummated. Budd 
waited outside the house, received the thousand dollars, and dis- 
appeared. Half dazed, Newbold re-entered the house. He had 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


48 


not seen his daughter at this time ; if he thought of her at all, it 
was with the idea that she had probably gone to bed. Exhausted 
in mind, feverish in body, he lay down upon a lounge in the 
library and fell asleep. 

He was awakened by the sound of voices. The room in which 



Through the TI vlf-opened 
NewboldSaw His Daught 
and Barnard. 

he lay was dark, but the door 
was ajar, and he saw that the 
hall beyond was lighted. Vi- 
oletta’s voice reached his ear, 
and that of a man. He listened. 

It was George Barnard’s. 

“Going away?” she said, 
with surprise and grief. 

“Yes, Vi, I must. It is hard to leave here now; it is like 
death to leave you. But if you knew everything, you would not 
blame me.” 

“ I know too much, George. I wish kind heaven had kept from 
me the knowledge of some dreadful things that have come to 




44 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


me. Oh, George, you must stay! I can’t bear wliat I have 
learned without you to help me bear it.” 

Through the half-opened door the concealed listener saw her 
shapely head droop to his shoulder and his ready arm support her. 

“If I only could, Vi! But mercy to myself, pity for your 
father, urge me away. You don’t want anything ill to befall 
him?” 

“No, no! Poor father — mother gone — 0 God, what am I to 
do? When will you come back?” 

“Soon, I hope. Things can’t go on long as they are going 
now. Dear Vi, keep up your courage. If the worst happens, 
write to me, and I will hasten back to you. Until that time, I 
dare not stay here. For his sake I dare not. There is a little 
place I know called Lewiston, on the river below Niagara Falls. 
I will write you from there, where I shall stay a while. Don’t 
fail to write, even if nothing strange should occur. I may be 
back before the summer is over ; who knows?” 

He heard a sound, and raised his eyes. Mr. Newbold" stood in 
the doorway. Violetta also saw him, but she* hardly started from 
her lover’s arms. 

“You appear to be enjoying yourselves,” the listener sneered, 
“ doing the agreeable to each other, and slandering the absent. So 
you are going to leave very abruptly, Mr. Barnard ? ” 

“That is what I came here to tell you, sir,” was the sturdy 
reply. “You have heard your daughter speak. I believe that 
she has in some way learned much that you would shrink to have 
her know. I need not hesitate to speak before her, though she 
has as yet heard nothing in the way of facts from me. Sir, don’t 
you see that I must go? Don’t you see that my daily presence 
there will be a reproach and an uneasiness to you? And how, I 
will ask you, can I stand at that desk day after day, with that in 
my breast which my simple duty would compel me to reveal to 
the directors, and I silent — because the dreadful secret concerns 
you, Violetta’s father. No, Lmust go from Scioga, or go crazy. 
I cannot wait another day ; I can’t bear this strain. Will you 
not, sir — since I am doing so much for you — will you not in some 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


45 


way explain and excuse my sudden departure? I must keep the 
good name that I have wrested from the pit where you threw it.” 

Mr. Newbold listened and spoke not. He merely nodded. A 
startling possibility flashed upon the mind of the bad man as he 
heard Barnard’s words. Only a possibility ; it would dc to think of. 

The man no doubt loved his child ; yet what love is so high 
and so holy that it will not be crushed down before the greed of 
gold, the lust of gaming? He heard the sound of a kiss and a 
sob — the closing of a door He was alone with her. 

“ Vi,” he said, sternly. you told him that the knowledge of 
dreadful things had come to you. What did you mean?” 

Her eyes were tearless, now. She took a paper from her 
pocket and handed it to him. 

It was his wife’s letter. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

A DEFORMED SOUL. 

he discovery scarcely gave him a new shock. 
The hours of late had brought him so 
many surprises and threats that one more 
was not to be received with dismay. He 
thought quickly, as men of brains do in 
such sudden, startling situations, and he 
saw that the time had come when the 
whole truth must be made known to his child. It was necessary, 
for reasons that he at once proceeded to unfold to her. It would 
be painful, but it must be done. 

He crumpled the letter and envelope and held them in the 
gas-jet till they were consumed. “ It would be a fine revenge,” 
was his unspoken thought, “if her cool and heartless writing 
should betray [me to all Scioga. I’ll destroy that mischief- 
maker.” 

Violetta sat and watched him, her hands clasped on her lap, 
her face sorrowful, her eyes distressfully inquiring. 

“You read it, Vi, did you? ” he abruptly asked. 

“ Yes, father ; I found it on the carpet after you had gone. I 
did not suppose there was anything private about it, but when I 
began to read it, I couldn’t stop.” # 

Obeying a sudden impulse, she went to him and joined her 
hands upon his shoulder. 

“Poor father! ” was all she could find voice to say, but to that 
storm-tossed soul it spoke volumes. He yielded to the caress, 
and for a moment was silent. He looked fondly at her. 

“Vi, do you think you could go away with me? ” 

“ And leave Scioga? 

“ Yes. I’m sick of the town and the people. By and by there 
will be rumors going about that she has left us for good, and I 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


47 


don’t want to stay and bear the lies and the gossip that will be 
told. You won’t give me up, Yi, will you?” 

His voice trembled. For answer she stooped and kissed his 
forehead. She remembered all his kindness. 

A flash of sunlight for the moment illumined the darkness 
that was gathering around him. He went on with something 
like cheerfulness. 

“ Yes, we must leave here. We’ve got nothing to stay for, and, 
in fact, it’s necessary to go. I want you to get a few things 
ready right away — to- 
night. You see, it’s impos- 
sible to tell how soon or 
how suddenly we may have 
to go. You’ll only need 
a carpet-sack. We can 
get anything we want in 
Canada.” 

He began to talk with 
the intention of telling 
her all. As he went on, 
he shrank from the 
wretched avowal. His 
guilty spirit quailed before 
those pure, trustful eyes. 

His vague expressions surprised without at first alarming her. 
She looked wonderingly at him. 

“In Canada?” she repeated. 

“Yes. We might go to Toronto, first, then to Montreal and 
Quebec, and you can see which you like best. We shall have 
means enough ; we can live anywhere. And in Canada I shall 
be perfectly safe.” 

The thought that had been constantly with him for the last 
few hours put itself in words almost without his volition. 

She started. Some of the strange things in the destroyed 
letter returned to her with a, new meaning. 

“And George can visit us over there, if you wish,” Iiq added, 



“I’li. Destroy That Mischief-Maker.” 


48 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


hoping to turn her thoughts into another channel. In vain ; she 
had the key at last to much of his conduct that she had not un- 
derstood. 

“ What have you to fear ? ” was her plain question. He couldn ’t 
evade it. 

“ Vi, you must know the whole truth. I want you to go with 
me, and you have a right to know everything. Your mother, in 
that letter, reproaches me with being a gambler. It is true ; I 
say it to my shame. I began playing for excitement. I kept on 
for gain. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost ; but on the whole 
I have lost heavily. The worsf of it is, I have lost money that 
did not belong to me.” 

He stopped, hoping that she would not press him. The hope 
was vain. 

“ Whose money was it ? ” 

“ The money of the bank, or of people who had deposited it 
there.” 

“Can’t you give it back? ” 

“Impossible. I haven’t got it ; I don't own so much.” 

“ Why, there is a whole drawerful upstairs. Why don’t you 
take some of that to make good what you have used? ” 

“ That is not my money, either. It came from the same place. 
Besides, we shall want it to live on in Canada.” 

She comprehended his position at last. She knew that her 
father was a thief. But she did not shrink from him ; she was 
a woman — his daughter. 

“ Father, give it back ! ” 

“ I can’t. It is useless to try. I lack thousands of dollars to 
replace what I have taken, and they can put me in the state's 
prison for what I have done already.” 

Her face was marble now. The two, in the agony of that mo- 
ment, looked strangely alike. What honest blood of true men 
and women of other generations ran in her veins, spite of the 
corrupted currents to which it came to her? In her loneliness 
her poor heart was crying out to her father, but she resolutely 
hushed it. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


49 


u I can’t go with you,” she said ; “I can’t— not that way.” 

“You don’t mean it, Vi? Why not? ” 

u I can’t consent to live on money that has been stolen from 
other people. I won’t be an outlaw, in Canada or anywhere else. 
I do so pity you, father, but — but — 0 God, help me ! That you 
should tell me this ! ” 

Her arms were around his neck, and she was sobbing on his 
shoulder. 

Not in all the devious ways that he had thus far walked had he 
known the keen anguish of that moment ; not in all the weary 
years that were before him lyas he to experience the like. He 
could look into the future a few days (it might be hours) and 
witness his own dreadful fall. He could anticipate the scorn, the 
reproach that were to be visited upon his name. He saw the tel- 
egraph burdened with the report of his crimes ; he heard news- 
boys hawking it in every city. All this could be, must he borne ; 
but to bear the mild reproach, to witness the grief of this dear 
child, to stand before her as a thief — ah, that was hideous ! That 
one hour gave more gray to his hair. He must give her up. 

He thought of her as a child, as a girl, as a woman. She had 
ever been his pet, his darling. She had been the one gleam of 
sunshine in that heartless home, with its cold luxury and false 
pretence. And he must give her up, not to death, not to a lover, 
but because he had himself put a gulf between them that she 
could not cross. 

“It almost breaks my heart, Yi, but I see that it must be.” 

She could not speak. 

“ I must say all I wish to say now, and this same must not be 
repeated, for I could not bear it. Your mother’s letter says that 
this house is hers ; so is the furniture. You are not likely to be 
disturbed here on account of anything I may do. In the clock- 
case yonder you will find a roll of bills, all honest money. You 
may use it as you wish. I can’t advise you as to your future. I 
have no right to advise. You have friends who I hope will not 
desert you ; some to whom I have done great favors in the past 
will now, I hope, remember them and be kind to you. Yi, dear 


50 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


child, this is all. Let us not prolong the pain of this parting. I 
may never see you again. I may be here for days yet, but when 
the time comes I shall go swiftly and silently. Think sometimes 
of your unhappy father. He has always loved you.” 

They tore themselves apart. The man’s better nature was 
stifled. Again he was cold, selfish, scheming, thinking of his 
future. 

He ascended to his own room. He was not yet ready for 
flight ; he hoped to have a day or two more in which to perfect 
his preparations, but flight might become necessary at any hour. 
He thought of Saul Budd, and ground his teeth. “ Damn him!” 
he hissed ; “ I’d like to put a pistol-ball through his heart.” 

For an hour he busied himself with preparations for a hasty 
journey, including the selection and trying on of a disguise. 
He looked at his watch ; it was only eleven. The old fever seized 
him. He yielded to it without a struggle. He took ^ large roll 
of bills from the drawer ; extinguished the light, and softly let 
himself out of the house. 

“It may be the last time,” he muttered, as he walked rapidly 
along the deserted streets. “ I hope it will be. The strain will 
kill me.” 

Daylight found him still at the gambling table. He was a 
heavy loser. On no single night had he lost so much. He 
wished to begin his flight at once, but thought it better to wait 
for the night train. And he wished to go to the bank again ; 
there were papers in his desk that he must destroy. 

Violetta had gone to a sleepless couch, praying for him, 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE IMPENDING BLOW. 

o have entered the building early ; to have 
been found by the janitor or scrub- woman 
sitting at his desk destroying papers, might 
have excited remark. He dared not ven- 
ture upon that, any more than he dared 
take the risk of entering and leaving again 
before the bank was open. He wished to 
have a night between him and discovery — 
discovery which meant pursuit. Those unlucky papers in his 
desk! Why had he not destroyed them before? Now he must 
wait a few hours longer, with the shadow of Saul Budd haunting 
him, and the possibilities of new danger in wait. 

He went to a restaurant, bathed his feverish head, made a care- 
ful toilet, and ordered his breakfast. When it was brought, he 
tasted of it, swallowed some black coffee, and took up the morning 
paper. A column with displayed heads caught his eye. He read : 
“Another of them Gone Wrong. Heavy Defalcation in Boston. 
A Bank Clerk Skips with Forty Thousand! ” He heard two men 
at the next table discussing the news. He could not read the 
particulars, for his head was dizzy, and his eyes were misty. He held 
the paper so that his face could not be seen, and listened to their 
comments. One said it was curious to notice how these terrible 
breaches of trust were mostly confined to the eastern cities. 
The other said yes, he believed the West was safer, on 
the whole. Scioga had a proud record for commercial honor 
and fidelity, No. 1 continued. Oh, yes, the other agreed, her 
banks, especially, were absolutely safe. Then the conversation 
glided off to topics of buying, selling, borrowing, lending and 
speculating. 

He was at his desk when the teller’s window was raised. He 

[ 51 ] 



52 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


went through the pigeon-holes, culling out letters and folded 
sheets, which he thrust into his breast pocket. 

A man stood at his window and made a slight noise to attract 
his attention. He wheeled about and saw Saul Budd. 

“What do you want?” 

“ Oh, nothing, Mr. Newbold, only to pass the time of day. Glad 
to find you here.” 

The man thrust his tongue in his cheek, and went out. He 
had reminded Carson Newbold that he was in an unrelaxing grip. 

Eleven o’clock came. The cashier was restive, impatient with- 
in ; outside he was cool, polite, quick and correct as ever. His 
eyes were often turned to the clock. He wished the hours were 
winged ; that those tardy hands might point to three, and bring 
him his release. 

As noon approached, Mr. Barkley left his private office upstairs, 
came down in the elevator, and walked leisurely through the 
bank. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Newbold,” his deep and hearty tones 
boomed out. “Hope you’re well, sir. No, by George, you don’t 
look so very well, neither. You want a little color in your face, 
Newby — a little more beef and ale, and a little less work.” 

There happened to be a lull in the ordinary business. The 
president of the Security National was in a complacent humor. 
He leaned on the counter and continued to chat. 

“ Guess I’ll go into the parlor and read the paper before I go 
out and get my snack. By the way, Newby, how’s young Mr. 
Bookkeeper gitting on ? Any more fuss ? ” 

“No, sir.” The cashier had not thought of him that morning. 
He looked over toward his place. “ He was here yesterday, sir r 
but I don’t see him here now.” 

“Not here yet? Why, the devil, sir! It’s plump twelve. 
These boys must be looked after. I wasn’t allowed to waste the 
time of my boss no such way when I was a young feller, now, I 
tell you. Jest find out if he’s sick, Newby. Better sick than, 
tardy.” 

The cashier beckoned to one of the clerks. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


58 


“ Does not Mr. Barnard board at the same house with you, Mr. 
Hill?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

t( Is anything the matter with him ? ” 

u I don’t know, sir ; I have not seen him this morning.” 

The clerk hesitated. 

“ Out with it!” Mr. Barkley cried. “There’s somethin’ in your 
face you’re not tellin’.” 

u I heard at the house that he didn’t come in last night. I 
hate to mention it.” 

“Well, I’ll be , Newby! I guess you was right about that 

feller, at fust, whatever it was you thought of him. If he don’t — ” 

“ Good-morning, Mr Newbold. Good-morning, Mr. Barkley. 
Fine day. I’ve called for that package I left a month ago.” 

It was time, now, for the cashier to weaken and blench, but he 
never quivered. He said “ Certainly,” while the vulture of fear 
tugged at his vitals. 

“Mr. Hill,” he said, “please look in the inner vault of the safe- 
chamber, and bring me a package marked with Mr. Skelton’s 
name.” 

“Big, yellow seals,” the applicant added. “Special deposit,” 
he explained to the president, who stood carelessly listening. 
“ Ten thousand. Might want to use it at any time ; might be 
months. I’ve never got used to savings banks and safe deposits. 
The Security National is good enough for me, sir.” 

“ Or any other man,” said Barkley, with a grin. Mr. Skelton 
pretended to think that the great man had made a little joke in 
the use of this worn-out phrase, and he laughed immoderately. 
Another caller was now heard. 

“Hello, Newbold! I’ve come at last for those Porcupine City 
bonds. How long they been here — ’most a year ? They’re at par, 
at last, and I guess I’d better sell.” 

The vulture tugged again, sharply and fiercely. But the 
cashier merely requested the clerk to find that package, also. 

He could find neither, and he so reported. With an exclama- 
tion of assumed impatience, Mr. Newbold entered the great fire- 


54 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


proof vault, searching for what he knew was not there. He 
came out in ten minutes, perfectly cool and unruffled. 

“Very singular, gentlemen, but by no means alarming. I 
can't lay my hand on either of your packages. Things will* get 
mislaid, even the most valuable things. They are somewhere in 
the safe or vault ; I’ll have both places thoroughly overhauled 

immediately. Come again 
to-morrow, and you shall 
have them. Such matters 
are under my special 
charge. Don’t be alarmed. 
Say, ten o’clock.’” 

The men slowly with- 
drew, with clouded faces. 
They stopped on the corner 
outside to talk. They 
talked so earnestly, that a 
man, then another, joined 
them and were permitted 
to hear what they were 
conversing and gesticulat- 
ing about. Mr. Marsh also stopped, listened and talked. 

Mr. Barkley stared, speechless, at the cashier. The latter 
calmly returned his stare. 

“Why, good God, Newby!” the president asked, in a whisper, 
“you don’t think there’s anything wrong about this — do 



r isappointed Depositors and Others Who 
. are Growing [suspicious. 


you?” 

“ I hope not, sir I tried my best to make it appear to those 
gentlemen that there was not, but — ” 

Mr. Barkley mopped his face with a vast breadth of handker- 
chief, and his great bulk trembled with nervousness. 

“ Make another search ; turn the place inside out. Find ’em, 
Newby — ” 

“It’s useless, sir,” was the calm response. “That money and 
those bonds are not there! They have been abstracted.” 

“Great Scott! Think of it! Lost, here with us! I can’t 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


55 


believe it! Why — why, what’s to be done? Who d’ye suspect, 
Newby?” 

The cashier was capable enough of lying with spoken words, 
but a simple motion would serve his turn just as well, now. He 
merely jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward George Bar- 
nard’s place. 

“ That boy! ” Mr. Barkley gasped. “ Could lie get to ’em? ” 

“It is possible, sir. He might, by watching his chance. It 
looks as though he had improved his time since we took him 
back. But this staggers me. I never thought — ” 

“ By , we’ve got to do something right away! That vault 

has got to be searched from top to bottom ; we’ll find out how 
much of this deviltry there is. I’ll call a meeting of the 
directors ; I’ll get an expert ; the books must be overhauled ; 
the—” 

“ For heaven’s sake, Mr. Barkley, be calm ; don’t do anything 
in haste. We must — ” 

He paused. Mr. Barkley was staring at the front of the bank. 

The cashier turned and looked the same way. The space in 
front of the teller’s window was filled — crowded with excited 
men with bank-books and certificates in their hands, struggling, 
urging, almost fighting their way up to the counter. Outside he 
saw the sidewalk thronged, the street half occupied by more men. 
The great, plate-glass panes were partially darkened by the faces 
that eagerly peered in, by the men and boys who climbed up on 
the shoulders of others and could thus see over the iron lattice 
to the money on the counters. 

A run on the Security bank had begun. 

There is no such panic as that of men and women fearful for 
the safet}^ 0 f their money. Not the wild rush of a beaten army 
from the field, not the singing of a multitude around a tall 
building wrapped in smoke and flame when imperiled life is in- 
side, is so determined, so full of mad resolution ; nor is any panic 
so quickly commenced. 

The very air was filled with flying rumors of disaster to the 
bank. From the moment that two men standing on the corner 


56 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


told two others of the embarrassment of the bank over their 
deposits, and hinted their fears that something was wrong, the 
story went up and down.the street, into the public places, through 
the shops, the mills, the factories, all over Scioga, as though it 
had been winged. What was known was repeated again and 
again, with startling and highly-colored exaggerations. The cry 
was abroad, “Save your deposits!” Workmen in their shirt- 
sleeves, men with paper caps and leather aprons, dropped their 
work and pressed and elbowed for admission to the teller’s 
counter ; even women pushed and struggled for place. 

The police were there in sufficient numbers, but there was 
nothing for them to do. They might as well have attempted to 
make a dry path across the river as to keep that sidewalk clear. 
It was an orderly crowd, save as it heaved and throbbed, and sent 
up a low, fierce murmur. There was no violence yet ; the people 
could wait a while to get their money ; there were no threats. 
Only a bare-armed Hercules from the furnace said, looking up at 
the high front of the “Barkley”: 

“ They say it’s fire-proof.” 

“Yes.” 

“ But I say, if the poor little earnings of us folk don’t come 
back through that hole there, that house comes doivn!” 

The “ Security” had always invited deposits, paying as much 
interest on them as the savings bank, and the popularity of the 
institution and the high character of its officers had for years 
recommended it to all classes as a safe place for their surplus, 
large or small. No bank in Scioga was m a situation to be so 
damaged by a “run” as this one. 

Up to three o’clock the excitement had hardly abated. Noth- 
ing else was talked of in the town ; and a thousand idlers and 
curiosity-seekers swelled the crowd in the street and increased the 
agitation. 

Some of the directors and other substantial men of business 
went about, talking, arguing, striving to allay the panic. Most 
prominent was Mr. Barkley, mounted upon the bank counter, 
looking down over the lattice at the crowd and haranguing them 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


57 


in his homely, earnest way, while he flourished a ruler in his 
hand. 

“You needn’t be the least bit skeered. Take your money, if 
you want it, there’s lots more where it comes from. We’ve tel- 
' egraphed to Chicago for a cool hundred thousand in specie and 
currency ; it’ll be here to-morrow. What’s all this fuss about, 
anyway? Come to me and I’ll guarantee your books and cer- 
tificates, if you want it. Ain’t Norm Barkley worth half a 
million yet? D’ye think I’ll stand by and see .the ‘ Security t 
suffer — or you either? ” 

“ Where’s the book- 
keeper, Uncle Norm ? ” 
somebody sang out from 
the crowd. 

“I don’t know — nor care. 

The bank is good for every 
dollar he’s stole.” 

“Where’s Skelton’s 
money — and the Porcu- 
pine bonds?-” 

“Skelton is goin’ to be 
paid to-morrow ; every 
cent, and interest. He’s 
satisfied ; what are you 
makin’ a row about ? Them bonds shall be paid for at full value. 
I'll have you fellers know that there’s stuff in old Barkley yet.” 

The crowd laughed ; some who had no deposits cried “Good!” 
and applauded ; but the work at the teller’s counter went steadily 
on, the press was as great as ever. The afternoon papers came 
out with a very brief account of the “run,” and assured the 
public that there was no adequate cause for it ; that the “ Security” 
would experience no embarrassment. Still, it was observed and 
generally commented upon, that the teller’s window was closed 
promptly at three o’clock, the announcement being made, “We 
will resume to-morrow, as usual.” 

It was generally known that a meeting of the board of directors 



58 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


was held that night, and there was great curiosity and interest 
felt to know what had happened in their locked parlor. As soon 
as Scioga was astir the next morning, new rumors and more 
startling one% traversed the street. It was asserted that the board 
waited long for the cashier, Mr. Newbold ; that he did not attend 
the meeting, and could not he found. At ten o’clock the u Se- 
curity” was not open. An angry roar came from the crowd as 
they read a placard just hung out : “ Closed three days for ex- 

amination.” 





CHAPTER X. 

OUTLAWED AKD PURSUED. 

t. Newbold had remained in and about the 
bank during the stormy scenes described in 
the last chapter. He had at times joined his 
efforts to those of the men outside who were 
trying to satisfy the crowd that there was no 
occasion for alarm. At three o’clock he was 
in his place, and participated in the hurried 
consultation at which it was resolved to put 
the books in the hands of an expert over night, and to hold a 
director’s meeting at seven o’clock. It was an anxious, troubled 
time for everybody connected with the “ Security,” but compli- 
ments were not wanting for the cashier. All turned hopefully 
to him. 

“ You’re a first-class feller, Newby,” said the president, slap- 
ping him on the back. “You’ve been doin’ good work out in 
front there, among those heathen. I know you’ll stick to us like 
wax. Be sure and come to the meeting at seven o’clock.” 

“Yes,” observed a director, “Nr. Newbold’s experience and his 
skill and his character with the public, will be worth everything 
to us in this crisis.” 

It was four o’clock when he was free. He avoided the crowd, 
taking a wide circuit to escape it, and entered his house in a 
leisurely and deliberate way. 

Violetta met him in the hall. Her eyes were red with weeping, 
but a glad smile came to her face when she saw him. 

After the interview of the night before, the man had thrown 
off the character of the affectionate father. He would not resume 
it now ; he was intent upon his own safety. He stifled his feel- 
ings and put away the offered kiss. He spoke to her with a 
lying tongue. 



60 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“ I'll be down to dine with you in a few minutes, Vi,” he said. 
“ Don’t detain me ; I’m in great haste. There’s to be a meeting 
of the board at seven, and I’m to be there.” 

He paused midway of the stairs. A thought occurred to him. 

“ Vi, go to the door and see if anybody is skulking around.” 

She went to the door, looked out, and reported : 

“ There is an ill-looking man on the other side of the street, 
in the shadbw of the trees. He is watching this house.” 

Newbold hurried upstairs. “Curse him !” he muttered. “He’ll 
never lay eyes on me again.” 

Violetta rang for dinner to be served. She was quietly rejoiced 
that her father was still with her, that he was coming down to 
dine with her, and would meet the directors in the evening. He 
had said nothing this time about flight or exposure. She had a 
momentary relief from her miserable fears. 

Half an hour passed, he did not come. She went to the stairs 
and listened. She heard nothing. 

She went up and tapped softly at his door. “Father,” she 
asked, “are you not ready ? ” 

There was no answer. She tried the door ; it was locked. 

The thought of self-destruction flashed upon her. He might 
be in that room now, dead from poison or dying from the razor. 

She flew down the stairs to summon help. She looked out at 
the front door again ; nobody was in sight but some children 
playing, and that ill-looking man hanging about under the trees. 

She wildly beckoned him to come over. “Oh, come in and 
help me, sir !” she cried. “I am afraid something is the matter 
with my poor father.” 

She could not know how gladly Saul Budd accepted that in- 
vitation. She was too agitated to remember a certain statement 
in her mother’s letter ; perhaps in this strait she could not have 
heeded it, had she remembered it. 

She told the man briefly and tearfully that her father had gone 
upstairs to his room, promising to come down to dinner in a few 
minutes. He had not come ; she had sought him ; his door was 
locked ; he would not answer. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


61 


“I wonder if the fellow has taken the short cut!” was Budd’s 
reflection. 

“ There is no time to stand on ceremony, miss,” he said. “ If 
it’s as you fear, we must get to him post-haste, or we’ll be too 
late. Bring me an axe, and I’ll break in.” 

With a few vigorous blows the door was torn from its 
fastenings. 

Budd afterward minutely described the appearance of the 
room and its belongings. He examined everything. 

The clothes that Carson Newbold wore that day were scattered 
on the carpet. 

Drawers of the bureau had been taken out and left on the bed. 
They were empty — except that in the larger one a piece of paper 
was found, which, on examination, proved to be a five-dollar 
note. A gold piece was also discovered. On the floor were 
strings and wrappings, evidently taken from packages of papers. 

This was all. There was not a scrap of writing to Vi — to 
anybody. He had gone in falsehood and secrecy. But how? 

Saul Budd saw that the girl was distressed by these dis- 
coveries, and a happy idea occurred to him. 

“ I won’t trouble you any more, miss,” he said. “Your father’s 
gone off somewhere. Please show me down the back way.” 

She complied, hurrying thence to her chamber to be alone 
with her grief. She had no parent now. 

Budd found the cook and a domestic in the kitchen. 

“ I’m an officer,” he said. “ I’m looking for a man. Who's 
been through here lately ? ” 

Neither of the women had quite gotten over the excitement 
and fright of an incident that had happened a little while before. 
An old man, all stooped over, with green spectacles, white beard, 
shabby clothes, a stick and a large satchel, had come hobbling 
down the back stairs. The women were so surprised that they 
could say nothing ; they could only huddle together in fright. 
The old man took no notice of them ; he limped out into the 
yard ; but the domestic, following at a distance, saw him climb 
Over the back fence and disappear. 


62 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


From this point we may follow him a short distance, ere we 
meet him further on in his flight. 

It was afterward proved that such a person was seen to be 
making his way out of town that evening. That at seven 
o’clock he entered an accommodation train at a way-station four 
miles from Scioga, rode to the next station, some ten miles off, 
and there left the cars. From this point his track was lost for a 
time, to he discovered later at a distance. 

Saul Budd hurried to the bank, big with the news. He had 
valuable intelligence to sell, and was eager to make his market. 

The time was only a little 
past six, but in the feverish 
state of mind several of 
the directors were already 
there. He obtained an 
entrance and attention, 
and at once offered to pro- 
duce evidence that would 
satisfy them who the thief 
was, for one thousand dol- 
lars. No threats or en- 
treaties could move him 
from this position. “I 
have information that you 
can’t do without,” he said. 
“I’ve worked hard to get it, and you must pay for it.” The 
chief of police was consulted. “ The fellow is disreputable, but 
sharp,” he said. “ He’s all business. He’s probably got some- 
thing to tell that is worth money to you.” Finally, a compro- 
mise was made ; Budd was to receive five hundred dollars down, 
and as much more if the information should lead to the detection 
of the criminal. He told his story, sparing no details of it. Men 
who had known and honored Carson Newbold for years, and who 
would have trusted him as a brother, heard The shameful story. 

The silence of dismay fell upon that meeting as Budd told of 
the gaming-room, the blackmailing, the disguised flight. 



Saul Budd’s Imposition on the Domestics- 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


63 


“ My God,” exclaimed Mr. Barkley, “ it can’t be true ! Newby 
a liar, a hypocrite, a thief? I’d sooner suspect myself.” 

The Scioga papers of the following day gave two columns to 
these astounding revelations. The details of Carson Newbold’s 
crimes and his protracted and successful efforts to conceal them 
were read with amazement. No man in business circles had 
seemed so unlikely to fall as he ; and the news produced a painful 
shock. It was stated that the bonds intrusted to the keeping of 
the bank, which he had abstracted, were valued at one hundred 
thousand dollars ; that it was believed he had negotiated some of 
them at the East ; that he had embezzled special deposits to the 
amount of thirty thousand, and that by an adroit system of 
forgeries on the books, which none but an expert and one 
acquainted with every detail of the business could accomplish, 
he had been able to absorb about twenty thousand more of the 
cash without suspicion. It was said by some of the would-be 
wits that these forgeries required leisure and secrecy of oper- 
ation, and they asserted that the only time when Newbold could 
possibly have made them was on Sabbath night, after church. 
The papers further stated that the decamping book-keeper was 
probably a confederate of Newbold to some extent, although it 
was impossible at present to determine the exact truth. The 
family of the defaulter was spoken of with tenderness and con- 
sideration ; his only child and daughter, the accomplished and 
beautiful Miss Violetta, was making her home at present with 
her aunt, a half sister of Mr. Newbold. To his wife it was feared 
that this news would come with stunning effect. That devoted 
and lovable woman had started for the Catskills only two days 
before. The papers also stated that every effort was being made 
for the apprehension of Newbold. 

Those efforts began before the meeting of the directors adjourned. 
Both chief of police and sheriff went actively to work. Tele- 
grams of warning were dispatched that night to Detroit, to 
Buffalo, and to New York. Six officers left town immediately 
for different points on the Canada frontier. A hot pursuit was 
on foot. 


CHAPTER XL 


FOR LIBERTY. 

he early express on the Lake Shore road rolled into 
the great station at Buffalo on time, with six sleepers 
and three coaches. Two detectives stood at the en- 
trance of the waiting-room, and scanned the crowd 
of passengers as they made their way out to the 
street. The telegrams in their pockets indicated 
that the man for whose capture ten thousand dollars 
reward was offered by the Security bank of Scioga, 
was certainly on this train. Their information was exact ; he 
was disguised as an old man with shabby clothes, green glasses, a 
white beard, and an assumed limp. They felt sure of him. He 
carried a satchel full of plunder. 

But they did not find him. The five hundred passengers filed 
through the doorway so slowly that they had ample time to 
examine every face and form. When they were all past, the de- 
tectives had nothing for their pains but an elderly German whom 
they had detained at a venture, and whose indignant jabbering 
of the Saubian patois and powerful odor of bad tobacco suf- 
ficiently proved him beyond suspicion. 

The flock of travelers gained the street outside, and were dis- 
solved and mingled with the throngs of the city. A trim-looking 
gentleman with eye-glass, tall, drab hat, light flannel suit, long 
duster, and new leather satchel, stepped nimbly along Exchange 
street, crossed Main, and stopped at a small station on the 
Terrace. He looked much like a college professor, a canvasser 
for a cyclopedia, or even a clergyman on a vacation. 

Many people were waiting here to go down to Niagara Falls, 
and this man purchased a ticket for that point. The train soon 
came and departed, bearing him away with the others. 

As he looked from the car- window at the swift-gliding pan- 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


65 


orama of meadows, woods, pleasant country places, and the 
majestic sweep of the great river toward its awful tumult below, 
his thoughts were very active. The exercise of keen wit had 
saved him so far from detention or arrest, The misdirected 
ability that had during months enabled the cashier ot the 
u Security” to carry on a large system of frauds and speculations 
undetected, had also enabled him to anticipate the prompt and 
extensive telegraphing that would follow his flight, the discovery 
of his disguise from the house-servants, and the ambush which 
the officers of the law, stimulated by a great hope of reward, 
would spread for him at certain points of his escape. Hence, we 
find him now, with the haven of rest and safety that remains to 
the embezzler, the defaulter, and “boodler,” in sight, with his 
dangerous disguise thrown off, traveling in just that way which, 
after all that had happened, would be most likely to baffle the 
officers — as himself! 

He was still thinking, deeply and closely. This part of the 
country was well known to him ; he had in past years traveled 
this way on pleasure, and on the business of the bank. When 
the train stopped at Black Rock, and again at Tonawanda, the 
sight of the river and the Canadian shore tempted him to leave 
the car, and try to gain immediate safety. He hesitated ; he dared 
not make the attempt at those places. There were established 
steam-ferries there, where everybody crossed ; he knew that more 
officers were on watch there for him. He realized the power of 
that wonderful agency in the hands of justice, the electric tel- 
egraph. He had employed it often enough himself to understand 
what it might accomplish, even in a desperate case. Already, he 
reflected, the failure of the Buffalo officers had been reported at 
Scioga ; already new clews, possibly the discovery of the discarded 
disguise, had reached Buffalo and gone on ahead of him down 
the river. Things like that had happened before ; they might in 
his case. And where other fugitive criminals often fail in relax- 
ing caution and cunning when the goal is in sight, this man was 
not to be found wanting. He was cunning to the last. 

The train neared Niagara Falls. He had never intended to go 

3 


66 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


there ; he knew that redoubled detective vigilance would be armed 
for his arrest in that situation. At the hamlet of La Salle, six 
miles above, a moment’s stop was made, and here the hunted man 
left the train. He strolled along the platform, looking at the 



well-shaded houses on the quiet street on one side, and the great 
width of the brimming river on the other, the islands far over, 
and the Canada line lying hazy beyond. The ticket-agent came 
out of his office with a telegram in his hand. He cast a glance 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


67 


at Newbold — a sharp, quick look — and paused. He tried to look 
unconcerned — but failed. 

“Did you come on this train, sir?” he asked. 

u No,” replied the other, thinking and answering in a brea^n, 
and with perfect composure. “ I have been staying a week with 
my family a mile up the river, and walked down to take the train 
to the Falls. I just missed it, and must wait for the next. 
When will it leave ? ” 

“Eleven twenty -five, sir. Walk into the waiting-room, and 
I’ll be back in a moment and get you the morning paper.” The 
agent spoke briskly, even eagerly. Mr. Newbold understood him 
as well as though he had said, “ I want to find you here when I 
come back.” He entered the station, looked out of the window, 
and saw the agent turning his head over his shoulder as he 
walked, to be sure that his request had been complied with. 

The fugitive waited one minute. He conjectured where the 
man was going with that telegram, he conjectured its contents. 
Leaving the station by an opposite door, he ran around a large 
railroad shed, keeping out of sight as much as possible, and 
paused in the shelter of the opposite side. He cast one longing, 
eager glance at the river. A tug was puffing up against the cur- 
rent, towing some logs that had broken loose from a boom above ; 
two sail-boats were skimming over to Navy Island, and a row- 
boat with a party of fishermen was in mid-stream. He knew 
there was no regular ferry here, and he dared not go down to the 
water and take the chance of finding a boat. He knew that he 
was already practically discovered ; to stay two minutes longer in 
the village, failing to find the means to get across the river or 
away, would be certain capture. 

Another plan swiftly presented itself. He peered out from 
behind the shed up the track ; the ticket-agent had not yet 
reappeared. Mr. Newbold darted over the rails, jumped a fence, 
crossed a field and plunged into a strip of timber. 

Emerging from this in a few minutes, he crossed a corn field, 
and found himself clear of the village. Climbing another fence, 
he entered a broad highway, and walked northerly at a rapid pace. 


68 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


For half a mile or more he went on as fast as he could walk. 
He passed haymakers at work in the fields, and once met a vehicle 
conveying a man and woman to La Salle, who looked at him with 
some attention. A little further on he came to a comfortable 
farm-house with a large barn, the proprietor of which was in the 
barn-yard, in his shirt-sleeves, salting his stock. 

Mr. Newbold walked up to him, and spoke in quick, crisp 
sentences. 

“ You’ve got a horse and buggy? ” 

The farmer had no lack of horses and vehicles ; but the unex- 
pected question surprised him to silence. 

“ Speak — quick!” 

“Why, of course. What ” 

“ You know the way to Lewiston? ” 

“You do, anyway,” replied the farmer, recovering n is wits. 
“ You’re going right along it.” 

“ I live in Buffalo ; my wife is at the point of death in Toronto. 
I came down on the train this morning, stepped off at La Salle, 
and got left. I must get to Lewiston in time for the eleven 
o’clock boat. Hitch up and take me down, and I’ll give you ten 
dollars.” 

The farmer eyed his visitor, was surprised and thougntful and 
said nothing. 

“ Twenty dollars,” said Mr. Newbold, urgently. 

“ It’s a dreadful busy season,” objected the man. “ Hayin’s 
backward, and ” 

“ Thirty dollars.” 

“ I’ll do it. Can’t go myself, but I’ll send my boy.” 

“ Hurry ! ” 

“ I will, but you’ll have a ciose time to catch that boat.” 

In spite of Newbold’s constant urgings, the farmer proceeded 
to “ hitch up ” with the utmost deliberation. He had not been 
in a hurry himself for thirty years ; and though he could sympa- 
thize with the afflicted gentleman’s desire for haste, especially 
after the promised reward had been transferred to his pocket, his 
leisurely habits of action were not to be suddenly dismissed. 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


69 


Fifteen precious minutes had passed before the fugitive was 
seated in the buggy with his leather bag on his knees. 

The horse was a fair traveler, and the man and his driver went 
along at a steady pace over the old “Military Road,” where two 
hundred years before the Chevalier De La Salle had portaged his 
supplies around the great cataract, to build the first vessel afloat 
on the upper lakes. The boy made a remark or two ; the man 
was silent. 

He threw over the buggy-top, and looked back. 

u Are there any fast horses at La Salle? ” he suddenly asked. 

“ Yes. Some real fast. The constable has got a team of blacks 
can go in less’n four minutes.” 

w Drive faster.” 

Some miles were passed in silence. The boy told afterward 
how the gentleman kept looking back, as if expecting pursuit, 
and how his hands worked nervously on his satchel. 

“How far now to the top of the mountain ridge?” he asked. 

“ About two miles.” 

He looked back again. For nearly a mile behind the road was 
level and straight. He saw a rapidly moving object in the dis- 
tance. It was coming— coming fast. There were horses. The 
boy looked back, and uttered an exclamation. 

“ Them’s the constable’s blacks.” 

New bold snatched the lines from his hands, and laid on the 
whip. The horse broke into a wild gallop ; the terrified boy clung 
to the side as the buggy bounded along. Laborers in the fields 
by the roadside, women and children in the doorways and by the 
gates, looked on in fright as that flying apparition went by. 

Another glance backward, and it was seen that the pursuers 
were gaining. 

“ They’ll catch you ’fore you get to the landing,” the boy 
whined. “You’d better stop.” 

“But Mr. Newbold had no intention of going to the steam- 
boat-landing. The long arm of the telegraph could reach him 
there ; the message had, an hour ago, flown from La Salle. He 
had one last, desperate chance ; all the details of it were arranged 


70 A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 

in his mind as he continued to lay on the whip and shout to the 
maddened, foaming horse. 

The road curved ; they dashed out upon the summit of the 
mountain ridge. 

The driver turned the animal up against the fence to stop him 
suddenly, and sprang out, grasping his satchel. He took in the 
whole magnificent panorama at one glance, and remembered with 
a dull throb of the heart how, ten years before, when lie and his 
wife and Violetta were at Niagara Falls, they had ridden down 

here in a carriage to enjoy 
this view. He saw the 
broad, smooth mirror of 
Ontario lying but seven 
miles off ; the wide river 
at the left winding down 
smoothly to it ; the large 
expanse of field and forest, 
over which the shadows of 
the summer clouds chased 
each other ; the village 
nestling in sleepy, rural 
beauty below ; the highway 
reaching out in a great 
curve, gradually descend- 
ing the height and making 
a semi-circle down to the landing, where he saw the smoke of the 
steamboat — he saw it all at once, and saw but one possible way 
of escape. 

The river lay to the left; he could reach it far above the land- 
ing by skirting the village; it was a full mile off, and for a good 
part of the distance the way was hard and rough. From the top 
of the ridge was a steep descent of five hundred feet, rocky, 
filled with wild vines and underbrush, difficult and laborious to 
traverse, even with deliberation. Without hesitation, Newbold 
went over the summit and disappeared. 

In three minutes a pair of black horses dashed up with a light 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


71 


wagon and two men jumped out. They found the boy standing 
by his panting, trembling animal, looking at a broken wheel. 
“Where’s that man?” they shouted. 

He pointed over the ridge. Far down its side, near the base, 
they saw a figure struggling through the brush. 

They followed, leaving their horses with the boy. 



CHAPTER XII. 

BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY. 

pon the morning of the previous day, a 
young man had come down to Lewiston in 
the train from Buffalo, and putting up at 
the hotel looking out upon the rivet, freed 
himself from the dust of travel. He 
glanced down upon the busy scene below, 
where the steamboat was getting ready to 
leave for Toronto with a load of happy ex- 
cursionists and tourists, and then watched her as she trailed a 
black ribbon of smoke far down the river till she was lost around 
the point. Presently dinner was announced, and the young man 
discovered to his surprise, that, notwithstanding the perturbed 
state of his mind, his body did not participate in the sentiment. 
In fact, he was very hungry ; he did not remember to have eaten 
anything since leaving Scioga, and he now liberally made amends 
for the neglect. 

He had plenty of leisure on his hands ; he had come to this 
most quiet and picturesque corner of creation that he might 
think, and determine on his future course undisturbed. He 
knew the situation well, and had thought that here, some hun- 
dreds of miles from Scioga, he might settle the question that had 
perplexed him there, and arrive at some conclusion as to his 
duty. The problem was a hard one for him. He was of a re- 
flective nature, serious and conscientious ; and though he had 
taken his hurried departure from an occupation he liked and the 
girl whom he dearly loved, in the full expectation that calamity 
was about to overtake the Security Bank by the villainy of Mr. 
Newbold, he now looked back upon his action with hesitation 
and distrust. Upon one hand was his love for Vi, and, notwith- 
standing his detestation of her father, his aversions to exposing 



A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


73 


him, on the other, was his duty to the bank, to save it from the 
peculations of a scoundrel. Can the reader put himself in George 
Barnard’s place, and say without hesitation what he would have 
done ? Certainly, he, having done the thing to which he was 
most strongly moved, was more tormented than ever. He lay 
sleepless the first half of the night, thinking how happy he might 
be with Vi, if it were not for her father ; when he fell asleep, the 
stern monitress, Duty, stalked with uplifted finger through his 
dreams, and he woke at daylight half resolved to return at once 
to Scioga and accuse Mr. Newbold to the directors. 

But he delayed ; he put it off till the morrow, resolved to pass 
at least another day here. Not hoping to release his mind even 
briefly from the conflict that disturbed it, he thought he might 
divert it by a row on the river. He went down to the wharf 
and hired a rowboat, in which he pushed out upon the broad 
bosom of the Niagara near eleven o’clock of that next 
morning. 

He floated down with idle oar for a time on the smooth, slow 
current, rolling along an hundred feet in depth, and looked at 
the grand range of heights above, with the jagged, precipitous 
cliff, on either side, where the river bursts through with Titan 
fury. Bending to his oars, he put the bow upstream, intending 
to row up high enough to get a sight of the dashing, turbulent 
flood in the gorge. 

The usual crowd from the train had gone aboard the steam- 
boat, and his little craft rocked buoyantly on her swells as she 
went down the river with a long, foamy wake. He rowed up to 
the end of the wharf and far above it, till he had reached the 
curious little whirlpools that agitate the quieting flood, and he 
could see the long, wire cables of the old bridge, with fragments 
of its shattered roadway dangling beneath. 

He was fifty yards from the shore, and his eyes happened at 
the moment to be fixed upon it. Down the steep, red-clay bank 
he saw an uncouth figure scramble, never stopping till his feet 
were wet at the water’s edge. It was a man, hatless, his long 
duster torn to ribbons, his clothes covered with dirt, his face and 

N 


74 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


hands bleeding from sharp visitations of briers and thorns. A 
satchel was closely hugged under his arm. 

His wild eyes swept the river, up and down. He saw the boat ; 
he stretched out his hands. 

u For God’s sake, come and take me in ! ” he shouted. “ I’m 
in distress , I must get across right off. Take me over, and I’ll 
give you an hundred dollars.” 

The voice had a familiar sound to Barnard — albeit he had 
never heard it pitched in that key before. Yet he could not 
associate any remembered voice with this scarecrow. The offer 
of reward did not stimulate him ; here was a human being in 
need of assistance, in some severe extremity, as Barnard could 
see, though he did not understand its course. No matter ; he 
was one who responded quickly to an appeal to his sympathies. 
A few vigorous strokes brought the boat inshore ; the man 
hurried aboard, and with a weak, “Bow out — quick !” he sank 
down exhausted in the stern. 

The oarsman pulled with a long stroke out into the stream, 
turning down for a smoother crossing. The stranger saw his 
full face, started, and averted his own. 

A loud hail came from the shore. 

“Hilloa there, with the boat !” 

Barnard lay on his oars. 

“Don’t stop!” cried his passenger, almost frantic with fear. 
“ Push across quick, and you shall have one hundred — five hun- 
dred dollars.” 

Two men were at the top of the high bank, gesticulating and 
lifting up their voices in hoarse shouts. 

“ I say — hulloa ! The man you’ve got in the boat with you is 
a runaway — a bank-thief ! That bag is full of stolen money and 
bonds ! There’s a reward *of ten thousand dollars for him ! 
Bring him back, and you’ll get part of it ! We are officers ; we 
order you to surrender him.” 

With renewed shoutings and outcries, the men on the bank 
repeated this information and command to him at the oars. 
The latter looked closely at the fugitive ; his face was hidden, 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


75 


so that Barnard could not recognize him ; but he could suspect 
the truth. 

“Is it you, Mr. Newbold?” 

“ Yes ! ” came in a smothered groan from the stern. “ Take 
me across — row — row ! 11 

The boat drifted down ; the voices of the men shouting on the 
bank grew faint. Poor Barnard ! He had fled almost a thou- 
sand miles to escape the conflict between love and duty ; he had 
lately put it off for twenty-four hours ; he had secluded himself 
in the middle of the Niagara to get away from it ; and here it 
was, thrust right upon him as sharply as it had never been before. 

The struggle was brief — 
but fierce while it lasted. 

He heard the voice of the 
fleeing thief in tones of 
abject terror and entreaty ; 
but what he said did not 
affect Barnard at all. He 
was fighting with himself, 
trying to reach a stern 
resolve. 

“ George — Mr. Barnard 
— I beseech you, don’t take 
me back ! I've suffered 
everything to get away, 
and now I’m safe, if you’ll George’s Reproach to the Bank Cashier. 
only take me across ! If you’ve got any hard feelings on account 
of my shabby treatment of you, pray forget them. Remember 
Vi, my boy ; you know she loves you dearly ; you know ” 

“ Stop !” thundered Barnard. U I ought to. take you back ; I 
believe I will.” 

“No, no!” screamed the wretched man. “You don’t, you 
can’t mean it ! Vi would never forgive you ; it would end every- 
thing between you two. And just think what I can do in 
Canada ! You can bring Vi over there ; you can be married as 
soon as you please ; we can all live together, or ” 



76 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“ Silence — you wretch !” Barnard took the oars, and ex- 
pended his fury in driving the boat through the water. “You 
almost make me take you back in spite of myself. Stop your 
•rascally noise, or I shall do it yet.” 

Mr. Newbold cowered down and held his peace. The boat 
steadily approached the Canadian shore. Within a few rods of 
it the oars stopped again. Barnard glared at him. 

“Give me that safchel !” was the stern command. 

A cry like the screech of a wild beast answered. The man 
who had bartered everything for the contents of that bag now 
hugged it to his breast in his fright and misery. 

“You can’t take it back ; you don’t dare to go back yourself,” 
he cried. “ I laid it all on you, to make time for myself ; they 
think now you’re as guilty as I am. No, no ; stick to me, George ; 
we’ll send for Vi.” 

“You infamous scoundrel!” Barnard broke forth, losing all 
control of himself. “Vile as I knew you to be, I couldn’t have 
believed this of you. Now, in one quarter of a minute, hand 
me that bag — or back you go to those officers, as straight as I 
can carry you.” 

A despairing groan rose from the miserable man’s breast. The 
satchel was flung over to the rower. 

A few more strokes drove the boat upon the narrow beach. 
Newbold got up and dragged himself to the bow. With one 
foot on the pebbles, he cast a glance of woful entreaty at Bar- 
nard, and seemed about to speak. 

“No !” the latter sternly interrupted. “Get ashore.” 

Out in the stream again, pulling across, Barnard took his last 
look at Carson Newbold. He was sitting by the water, his head 
bowed on his arms, beaten, shorn of the fruits of his crimes, 
outcast and alone. The young man shuddered at the picture. 
“ It is the way of the transgressor,” he thought. 

The officers had come down to the wharf ; and though hope- 
less now of capturing the absconding thief, they lingered about, 
waiting to learn something of the man who had enabled him 
to escape. They presently found at the boat-house" that this 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


77 


man had come to the hotel the day before on the Buffalo 
train. 

“A neatly put-up job,” was the shrewd comment. “It’s the 
young fellow that the telegram speaks of. He’s the other one’s 
pal, and came here ahead to help. ’Twas a cute scheme, and it 
has succeeded.” 

44 Well, do you see what’s coming? ” the other asked. 44 There’s 
that very boat coming back, with the young fellow in it.” 

44 So it is ! Here’s cheek for you ! What does it mean ? ” 

The boat came straight to the wharf. Barnard rose up to tie 
the rope to a ring. One of the officers seized it. 

44 You are our prisoner,” he said. 

44 0f course I am. You needn’t get out any irons ; I’ll go along 
with you. Here’s the stolen bonds and money.” 

He handed up the bag, and climbed out himself. The officers 
looked at him with silent amazement. 

44 Why didn’t you bring the other man back, along with the 
plunder?” one of them asked as soon as he could get his breath. 

44 1 had my reasons. They’ll come out in good time. Just 
wait with me till I settle for the boat, and at the hotel, and then 
I’ll go with you.” 

44 Well, you are a cool one ! Come along. We’ll have to walk 
up to the top of the mountain to where we left our horses when 
we chased your pal down to the water ; we’ll take you to 
La Salle, and then to Buffalo. You’d be entitled to wait there 
in jail for a requisition on the governor of this state, if you 
choose to demand it.” 

“Not an hour ! I want to get to Scioga as fast as steam can 
carry me.” 

He mounted the long steps with them. 


CHAPTER XIII. 



VINDICATED. 

he city of Scioga was one day electrified by 
the published intelligence that all of the 
bonds and a large share of the money ab- 
stracted from the Security bank had been 
recovered ; and that, though the chief crim- 
inal, Carson Newbold, had succeeded in es- 
caping to Canada, his confederate, young 
George Barnard, the late assistant book- 
keeper, had been captured and was in the city jail. 

The bank had opened its doors again for business on the third day, 
when the whole extent of the embezzlement was discovered, Mr. 
Barkley promptly assuming the loss, in advance of any action of 
the directors. With confidence fully restored, the panic stopped, 
and the institution went on its prosperous way again. 

The bulk of the pilfered treasure being returned, public curi- 
osity was excited by the report of some extraordinary circum- 
stances attending its capture. The reports were very conflicting ; 
and even after the directors had apportioned the reward among 
those entitled to it, much uncertainty attended them. The ex- 
amination of Barnard was continued from time to time until he 
had been in confinement a month. The prison officials said that 
he bore himself cheerfully, but with reserve ; two or three of his 
friends visited him, and urged him to employ counsel, and have 
an immediate hearing insisted on. He greeted them pleasantly 
but gravely, telling them that when the whole truth came out, 
as it soon would, he thought they would be pretty well satisfied 
with him. But he refused to take any step for himself. 

It must be added that Violetta was not left in ignorance of his 
position. As soon as he was permitted the use of stationery, he 
wrote her a very long letter, the reading of which brought the 

[ 78 ] 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


79 


sunshine back to her face again. She not only replied the same 
day, but she was alone prevented by her lover’s positive command 
from going to the jail at once to visit him. 

The press is a power in Scioga, as elsewhere ; and when, about 
this time, one of the prisoner’s friends caused to be inserted in 
the daily papers an inquiry as to why Mr. Barnard, whose char- 
acter had always been irreproachable, was kept in jail at the con- 
venience of a powerful corporation, with no proof whatever 
against him, a decided stir was caused by it. The item was the 
talk of the town. 

“ Why, what’s this?” Mr. Barkley asked, as he read it. “ No 
proof whatever against him? That can’t be so. Still, I used to 
think he was a fine young feller ; hope he wasn’t so badly mixed 
up with that rascally Newbold that they can’t be light on him. 
I must ask about this. Mr. Hill — I say, do you know anything 
about how this prosecution of young Barnard is coming on?” 

“ Not much, sir. I heard the prosecuting attorney say here 
one day that there was little proof against him.” 

“Well, that’s queer. This part of the business hasn’t been 
talked of as much as it ought, since we got most of the plunder 
back. I guess I’ll look after it a little. These newspapers make 
talk.” 

When Norman Barkley became interested in anything, it was 
his energetic way to exhaust the subject at once. Within ten 
minutes he walked into the public prosecutor’s office and pro- 
pounded the same question that he had asked at the bank. The 
lawyer was quite ready to answer. 

“ It gets along very slowly, sir,” was the reply. u In fact, it 
doesn’t move at all. I have been intending to come and see you 
people about it. That piece in the paper to-day has got some 
truth in it, and may compel us to do something — or quit.” 

“ Do you mean to say that we’ve been keeping that chap in 
jail all this time without any case against him? ” 

“ No — not as bad as that. But we haven’t got enough to con- 
vict him ; hardly enough to hold him for the grand jury.” 

“How is it?” 


80 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


The lawyer put on a deep, professional look, and began to 
count off propositions on his extended fingers. 

“ I’ve investigated the case pretty thoroughly, and can tell you 
what there is of it. First, the young man is in your bank for 
months, with an excellent character. That is good. Then the 
cashier gets him discharged. Not so good. Then he compels 
the cashier to have him restored. That would be unaccountable, 
except that by putting this and that together, I have worked this 
out — that Barnard had discovered that the cashier was gambling, 
and he held the fear of exposure over him. Most of this comes 
from that scamp, Saul Budd, who will certainly get to state’s 
prison himself, if he lives long enough.” 

“That’s so. Well?” 

“Bear in mind here, that all those fa.se entries and alter- 
ations are in Newbold’s writing. Barnard didn’t make one of 
them.” 

“Just so.” 

“ Where did the first suspicion against the book-keeper come 
from? ” 

“ From Newbold. He hinted it to me,” 

“Was that a likely thing for him to do, if they were con- 
federates? ” 

“Not at all. But what made the boy run away? ” 

“ Ah ! — there’s a mystery right there that I haven’t got to the 
bottom of. Well, he helps Newbold across to Canady when the 
officers were at his heels. That looks bad.” 

“Yes; I should say so.” 

“But instead of staying there, he not only comes straight 
back and gives himself up, but he brings the plunder, as you call 
it, along with him, and gives that up, too. Now, what can you 
make out of that? ” 

“Did he re’ly do that?” Mr. Barkley asked. “It didn’t get 
to me in that shape.” 

“That was just the way it happened. I was out there last 
week, and had the whole story from the officers who took him. 
They can’t explain it, either.” 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


81 


“Why, it beats the Jews!” exclaimed the president, getting 
excited. “ What do you think of it? ” 

“Simply, that there’s something behind all this that hasn’t 
come out. Without it, we are all at sea as to this young man’s 
motives, and with little show against him. If he’s to be pros- 
ecuted for aiding Newbold to escape, we’ll have to send him to 
New York, where it was done. We’ve no case here.” 



George’s Vindication in His Cell. 


“Will you go with me and see him? ” 

“ Yes. He can let in the light, if he will.” 

They went to the jail. A long interview with the prisoner 
followed. He declined to send for counsel, saying that he had 
nothing to conceal. He told his story, fully and unreservedly. 
The prosecutor was enlightened and looked quite gratified, while 
Mr. Barkley appeared highly interested. 




82 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


“You’ve supplied the missing link, Mr. Barnard,” the lawyer 
said. “ We can now perfectly understand the whole affair. Mr. 
Barkley, I think the bottom has dropped out of the case.” 

“Yes, I ain’t sorry, neither.” 

“ And I think I might as well have this young gentleman be- 
fore the magistrate immediately, and consent to his discharge.” 

“ By all means. But I’d like to know of you, young feller, 
what made you stay in here a whole month, waiting for us to 
find out about this? Why didn’t you let me know?” 

“ Mr. Barkley,” said Barnard, with emotion, “ I came here un- 
known and friendless. After getting a good start, I was cruelly 
wronged by that villain — I have told you why. I have also told 
you the means I took to right myself. When I had discovered 
the full measure of his guilt my duty required me to disclose it to 
you at once. I hesitated ; I was weak when I ought to have been 
strong ; finally, I abandoned my post and ran away. You know 
why I did so ; perhaps either of you would have done the same in 
my place ; I say again that I was not strong enough to break her 
heart by sending her father to the penitentiary. I am glad that 
I was able to be of such great service to you ; and still — still, I 
have felt as though I deserved some punishment. I do want to 
see Yi dreadfully ; but if you think I haven’t suffered enough in 
mind and body already for her father — — ” 

There was a trifle of huskiness in the kind old man’s voice as 
he grasped George’s hand. 

“By thunder, sir, you shan’t stay here thirty minutes more! 
If that young woman understands what a man’s devotion is, she 
knows she’s got the real thing this time. You’re a good chap, 
Mr. Barnard ; I’ll have more to say to you to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

BETTER THINGS. 

course, public interest in the Security Bank 
affair was revived upon George Barnard’s discharge. 
The undeveloped facts became quickly known. There 
was such a romantic flavor in the whole episode that 
the press had it written up by the column, and George might 
have been, had he desired it, the lion of Scioga for the balance of 
that month. What pleased him best was the published cer- 
tificate of the president and directors of the bank, that Mr. 
Barnard’s conduct was quite satisfactory to them, and that they 
cheerfully united in thanking him, and recommending him to 
the public confidence. 

He spent the first day of his freedom with Vi, of course. The 
next, he called on Mr. Barkley, and was warmly received in the 
president’s private office. 

“We were rather hasty in dividing that reward money,” said 
the president. “But the thing was badly mixed. The reward 
was offered for the capture of Newbold, yourself, and the plunder. 
Now see! Newbold wasn’t taken at all; you were; but you 
brought in the whole prize, and should have shared in the re- 
ward. Then again, you were an accused party yourself ” 

“It is just as well that the reward is disposed of, sir. I never 
should touch a penny of it.” 

“ But I want to do something for you. As to going into the 
bank again ” 

“ That’s impossible, after what has happened. It is the last 
thing I should wish.” 

“You understand, I see. No reproach, no suspicion, nothing 
to be sorry for — but the story continually coming up, and ex- 
planations always to be made to strangers who happen to hear of 
it, of iust how it was. Besides, you can do better elsewhere. 

[ 83 ] 


84 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


I’ve got important interests in Kansas City that sadly need 
energetic looking after. You are smart and capable ; two 
thousand a year to you to take hold there for me, with your 
chance of growing up with the town. What d’ye say ? ” 

They agreed upon the spot. The following week Mr. Barnard 
and his bride started for their new home. 

Violetta wrote to her mother on the occasion. She received a 
polite but distant reply, expressive of the latter’s satisfaction 
that Vi was married and settled. A present of a card-case, which 
never cost less than a dollar and a half, came by mail, with some 
unpaid postage. 

We have been taught that there is nothing on earth higher 
than the name of woman, nothing holier than that of mother. 
Yet there are such women and mothers as Mrs. Frances Newbold 
(she has now adopted her maiden name), but we rejoice that they 
are few. She appeared last season at several eastern watering 
places as a fascinating and dashing widow, and is said to have 
turned the heads of several elderly millionaires who had supposed 
themselves beyond the reach of such influences. • We are likely 
to hear more of her in this new role, so well suited to her ability. 

And the Canadian exile ? 

Unlike the Montreal colony of American refugees, fattening in 
dull and disreputable idleness on ill-gotten spoil, Carson Newbold 
roams in restless poverty on the border, sighing in vain for 
squandered honor, for his forfeited birthright. His career is 
finished ; he is dead in everything but body, and death will be 
merciful when it claims that. Still, even such an existence may 
be capable of further suffering. I have heard that in one of his 
darkest fits of despair he wrote a pathetic letter to his wife,, 
begging her to join him and comfort him, since he could not 
come to her. She replied only with a marked copy of the 
Indianapolis paper containing the notice of the granting of her 
decree of divorce. 

George Barnard, living very happily with his wife at Kansas 
City, knows of her frequently receiving letters with Canadian 
postmarks ; he supposes that she answers them ; he would not be 


A BARTERED BIRTHRIGHT. 


85 


surprised to learn that Violetta sometimes sends money to her 
father. But he never mentions the subject ; she, after learning 
all that the released prisoner at Scioga had to tell her, consents 
that the name of Carson Newbold shall be as a sealed book be- 
tween them. There is a gulf between them and him. 

We may predict their continued happiness, notwithstanding 
the shadows of both past and present. So may it be! 



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